


Trouble

by MrsMess



Series: Harvest Moon [2]
Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: Acceptance, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Conflict, Conversations, Drama, Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, Family, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Kissing, Literati, Love, POV Alternating, POV Female Character, POV Third Person, Parenthood, Past Lives, Present Tense, Sex, Talking, Trouble, Trust, Trust Issues, ad nauseum, pre-Revival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-01-26 16:26:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 48,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12561428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsMess/pseuds/MrsMess
Summary: It is what is. But it is, and that’s the thing. It doesn’t have to be perfect, it just has to be real.





	1. Hours (129)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fayevalcntine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fayevalcntine/gifts).



> What would the revival have been like if Rory and Jess got together before it? Starts in early fall of 2015 through 2016 to Luke and Lorelai’s wedding. It’s good, but not necessary to read Harvest Moon first as this is a continuation of it.  
> Disclaimer: Very ship-centric. I wilfully skip pieces from the revival that aren't relevant to my story, and ignore stuff I find silly ;)  
> I love visits on my tumblr: missismess, where I keep tons of fanart for this and other fandoms.

__

 

_Got so much to lose / Got so much to prove / God don’t let me lose my mind._

**Trouble, Cage the Elephant**

 

**September 2015**

 

Perhaps it's the fact that he used to live here that wakes him up. He knows the sound of the door chime, of the kitchen being used, even through layers of wall and floor. The sounds sit him up instantly. He knows Rory texted her mom when they got in last night, but not what she wrote, or if Luke or Lorelai has even seen it yet. Anyone of them walking in here finding him and Rory in their unguarded state would be bad news. He looks down at her. She’s sleeping on her tummy next to him, unaware. His chest tightens. He’s felt that more these last few days than he has during his adult life. The possibility of loss, its presence as unwelcome as necessary. He reaches for his clothes and pulls on pants and a t-shirt quickly. Hears someone in the storage. Glances back at her. Bends town and kisses her temple before getting out of bed. He closes the door behind him as the floor at the bottom of the stairs creak and fall suddenly quiet. He looks up and sees the baffled face of Luke stare up at him.

"Hey." He starts.

"Hey," Luke says. "What are you doing here?"

He isn't ready for this, not in his present circumstances, but he did have time to prepare a lie that would explain why he would suddenly be in Stars Hollow without any warning. He falls back on it.

"Business upstate. The drive down was too long. I got here in the middle of the night."

"Huh. Okay." Luke accepts it, no reason for him not to, it's happened before.

"Start keeping your cell phone turned on and I'll text you next time."

"Yeah right." Luke says with a dismissive grin. "Well, it's nice to see you. You staying for breakfast?"

"Please."

"Great. Lemme just-" He moves up the stairs quickly and makes an attempt to pass Jess, who blocks the door.

"I have to get something." Mild irritation in his voice, supposedly for making him speak redundant words this early.

"I'll get it." Jess regrets this course of action as soon as he takes it. It cannot end well, but neither can letting Luke into the apartment at this time.

"No, it'll be quicker-"

"No."

"Okay. What's going on? You got another girl in the closet?"

"Not exactly." It’s the pause beforehand that betrays him. Luke’s expression turns incredulous.

"Oh, geez! Jess, I was kidding! What year is it?"

"It's Rory." Jess interrupts firmly.

Luke stares at him, frowning, for a second.

"What?!" He exclaims, tone somewhere between disbelieving and protective.

"Would you keep your voice down?"

"You're telling me she's in there?" Luke points to the door.

"I'm guessing Lorelai didn't have a chance to check her texts?"

"She was asleep when I left. It's barely 6 am." Luke's already gesturing wildly, voice only slightly lowered.

"Look, can we move this whole interaction downstairs? I don't want to wake her."

Luke looks at him silently for a moment. He can't decipher his uncle's expression, seems too mixed.

"Fine," Luke finally concedes.

 

They walk down the stairs and into the diner. They both wordlessly accept this standstill in their conversation and wind up behind the counter making coffee and a cup of tea. It's a side to their relationship established after their blowouts when Jess used to live here. His tactic to Luke's head-on aggression was snark and physically removing himself from the situation, and he knows, a decade later, that he used the same method in any context. He tries not to anymore, but Luke has learned too, and knows when to give it a break these days. Hence the temporary truce.

They actually bring their respective mugs with them to the table in the corner, sit down simultaneously on opposite sides, and stare at each other for a beat, before picking it up again.

"Okay, you're gonna have to start at the beginning." Luke goes, in that decisive manner he gets when he desperately tries to control things. Jess stifles a sigh. "Make things really clear for me, because I'm at a loss here. Business upstate? Rory apparently left for my cabin last Wednesday. And now you're here. Together. Which, by the way, you have to expand on; how exactly are you together? I'm guessing she's not actually hiding in the closet. So how are your sleeping arrangements? Jess, if you-"

"Hey, if you could let up on the rant for a second, I could try to tell you. But seems you're on a roll, so I'll just wait 'til you're done."

"Geez! The attitude. You in the apartment with Rory. Forgive me if I'm a bit spun over this whole bit of time travel we apparently did over night!"

"I was at your cabin. Okay?"

"The cabin? Wait, how did you even get in- Never mind, I don't wanna know!"

"She showed up. She stayed. We drove back last night and..."

"And what, Jess? What happened?"

He grasps for a plain way to tell Luke, but it's hard.

"Well?"

"It's-" He's this close to landing on 'it's complicated' but stops himself when he realizes that it really isn't, everything around them might be, but they're not. Not right now. It's too late to try to be safe. "We're back together."

"What?" Luke says again. Jess tries to keep his expression even, firm. Thinks he does a pretty decent job.

"No," Luke continues. "Back together? Together, together? After five days? Are you insane?"

"Yup." Jess responds, effectively answering all four questions.

Luke shakes his head. Looks at Jess again. Somewhat softer, but still concerned.

"You mentioned a text. Does Lorelai know about this?"

"I don't really know, Rory texted her when we got in last night, I didn't exactly peek over her shoulder."

"Well, if she doesn't she needs to."

Jess sighs, audibly this time.

"That's Rory's business."

Luke laughs his laugh that isn't a laugh, but more of a warning that he's about to lay it on pretty thick.

"Nope. That's not how this works and if you think so, you're deluded. See, Lorelai and I have been living together for damn near ten years. That makes her family, and in a family you don't get to distribute separate issues. It doesn't just concern Rory and her mother, it concerns me and what concerns me concerns you and vice versa. There's no compartmentalization available, buddy. This is a mess everyone is in now. Just for your information."

"If we could we'd like to avoid the mess."

"Good luck with that."

Jess' irritation escalates towards anger.

"Well, good thing we're in this together, right, uncle Luke? Wasn't that what you said?"

Luke stares at him, wide-eyed, hands in a defensive gesture.

"Woah, I'm staying far away from this when Lorelai finds out."

"Good luck with that." Jess retorts and gets up. "Hey, could you try to be a bit supportive? The way you're talking this is some big disaster." He shakes his head and recognizes his chest is aching. Luke thinks this is a bad idea. "How come I don't feel that?"

Luke stares at the table. Desperation claws at Jess and he summons all his strength to tie it down. He looks down at his coffee cup, fixating his gaze at the liquid's surface to focus.

"I know you care about me."

"Oh, come on Jess-"

"No, I know. So, can you answer this honestly; I haven’t been in a relationship for five years. And even then-" He interrupts himself. "You know how I feel about her.” He looks up at his uncle, who returns the eye contact tiredly. "You know. So, are you seriously going to ask me to drop this?"

Luke sighs.

"Would you listen if I did?"

"Don’t play games. What if it was you and Lorelai?"

Luke huffs air out through his nose in a sad parody of a laugh.

"I did ask myself to drop that repeatedly."

"But you didn’t.”

Luke looks back at him, this time resigned.

”Look. It's not just Rory I worry about. Sometimes... I wonder if your life would have been easier if you'd never come here."

Jess takes a deep breath, trying to keep it steady.

"Easier maybe. But it would have been worse." He falls silent, in order to let his words take the space they need to matter. He gets up, and walks behind the counter to get a refill, then remains there, looking at Luke. "I'm not asking you to argue in our favor. I’m asking you to just not make it worse. You already know Lorelai’s going to inflate this, it’s what she does. Just try to smooth things over. Please."

Luke stares at him across the room, him processing the words visible in his face.

“Fine.” He finally concedes. “But Jess, if you get her into any kind of trouble- any kind- just, don’t make me regret this.”

“I won't.” Jess says soberly. Then: “But ‘into trouble’? What year is it again?”

 

The staircase creaks and moments later Rory appears from behind the curtain.

"Hi Luke," she says shyly.

"Rory!" Luke says, gets up quickly and gives her a hug with one arm, it looks uncomfortable, but the gesture seems to make her happy. Jess sighs with relief.

"I missed you," Luke says. “How was your weekend?”

Rory smiles somewhat tightly, obviously swallowing any complicated aspects of her answer.

“Good.”

“Good.” Luke says back, throwing a pointed look at Jess who raises his eyebrows in response. “Have a seat, I’ll make you some breakfast. What do you want?”

“Just coffee, thanks.” Rory says and sits down.

Jess and Luke exchanges another glance. For her to say no to breakfast… Jess sits down next to her and takes her hand. She sighs shakily, but smiles at the touch and squeezes him back.

"What did you tell Lorelai?"

"I just said I'd be staying here and asked her to meet me for breakfast."

"No response?"

"I turned off my phone," she responds apologetically. "I was too nervous to keep it on."

“It’ll be okay,” he says but is far from convinced. He knows Lorelai has the power to wreck them. Without her support it’s going to be extremely difficult for them to sustain a relationship. During the years she has warmed up to him some, but he’s well aware that it’ll likely be a whole other piece of business if he’s back with her daughter.

 

He gets up and goes to get their books from the apartment. Since they'll likely be waiting for Lorelai for a while it's the only thing he can think of that might distract them from the fact that the diner feels an awful lot like the waiting room at the hospital this morning. They sit next to each other by the table in the corner, their backs to the wall behind them. She mostly stirs her coffee and looks out the window. They hold hands under the table. She fidgets in her seat when the first costumers show up; Kirk and Morey and Babette, and a few people he vaguely remembers from the few times he attended high school. Babette greets Rory in her overbearing way and acknowledges him with a nod and a smile as well as a curious look. She and Morey sit down, but she can't stop sneaking glances at their table. Rory grabs his arm with both her hands under the table.

"Okay, maybe I'm starting to freak out a little bit," she mumbles.

He scrambles for a way to respond, a correct way, that will calm her down. He only finds his own way of dealing with this kind of thing, so, he sips his coffee and smiles grimly.

"Too late to back out now."

She stares at him with a wrinkle between her eyebrows, stern face. He turns his body to hers to face her. Looks her straight in the eyes.

"Do you wanna back out?" His tone lands evenly on cocky, but he's more scared than he allows himself to acknowledge at that moment. Her expression slowly changes, the wrinkle disappears, and the concern in her eyes gives way to excitement. She smiles broadly and it feels like sunrise. There she is.

"No," she says firmly.

He kisses her then, making it all official-like. Has to restrain himself, because even if he feels this moment is theirs, they might as well be getting married as far as this town's concerned. He hears Babette hissing to bring Morey’s and Kirk's attention to them and actually feels her lips tighten with a smile. Then the door chimes, and someone clears their throat. They both stiffen as they recognize the voice. Lorelai.


	2. Nights (5)

_Those brittle thorny stems / They break before they bend / And neither one of us is one of them._

**Turn on Me, The Shins**

 

**September 2015**

 

Her heart stops at the sound of her mother. She freezes and slowly pulls away from Jess trying to get her bearings before facing Lorelai completely. She must look like a teenager caught in the act, which is all correct, except for the age. She's a grown woman. At first, she's embarrassed, then she processes the other side of that fact, and stretches her back, turning to face her mother with a smile.

"Hi, mom."

"Hey Rory." Lorelai responds, cocking her head to the side. To the casual viewer all friendliness, to a daughter and a best friend... her smile doesn't reach her eyes. "Jess." Lorelai continues, remains standing.

"Lorelai." He says in his short fashion, and shoots off a small but disarming smile.

Silence settles like dust between them. Luke breaks it.

"You want coffee?"

"Yes." Lorelai answers, but Rory responds too, with a "no". They look at each other.

"Mom, maybe we should go to Weston's or something," Rory tries. "To talk." She finishes quietly.

"About what?" Lorelai says. "This?" She takes a seat and gestures vaguely to Rory and Jess. "Seems pretty uncomplicated to me. Let's just have breakfast." She takes a seat opposite them and Luke comes to their table with a pot of coffee. Rory throws him a helpless glance and he hesitates in his motion to pour their drink. Just for a fraction of a second though, he knows better than to withhold coffee when Lorelai asks for it. He shakes his head at Rory in response. So, they all get refills, and order breakfast, but Rory can't get much down. They sit in unnatural silence.

"So, how'd you two get together?" Lorelai suddenly asks, the tension in her voice only partially covered by polite curiosity. Rory still tries answering as if nothing's wrong.

"It's sort of an unlikely story; Jess was at the cabin when I got there, fixing it up for Luke, it was supposed to be a surprise-"

"Really?" Luke interjects, as if it's the first he hears of it. "That's nice of you!"

Rory tries to keep from wincing. Lorelai glares at him. He's trying to help but it's not going to do any good right now, and it's clear that Jess sees that too, as he only responds to his uncle's praise with a close-jawed smile, a nod and a pretty piercing stare. Luke backs off. Rory treks on.

"And he wouldn't let me- convinced me to- It was really late and it would have been stupid to drive back, so he fixed me dinner, and was just..." She sighs, and breaks eye contact with her mother to look at Jess. "A friend." She says. Her heartbeat is quick, but she's strengthened by him returning her look, eyes steady. "And then more than a friend." She looks back to Lorelai. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but I just, had no idea myself."

“Yeah, I’m sure,” says Lorelai in such a dry tone it actually makes Rory blink.

“Mom-“

“Just, spare me, Rory.” Lorelai gets up, her tone indifferent, cold smile on her face. “If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine. No need to lie.”

She walks over to the counter and grabs a take-away cup, pouring her coffee into it.

“I gotta go to work. See you crazy kids later.”

Rory shoots Jess a quick glance before getting up and going after her mother.

 

"Mom, wait!" Rory follows Lorelai, struggling to keep up. "It's the truth! I didn't lie."

Lorelai waits until they've left the town square before spinning around to face Rory.

"How is this possible, Rory? How are you back with him? How come I knew nothing?"

"Alright, those are three questions at once, so I'm just gonna-"

Lorelai interrupts her. First with her expression, then words. Rory's taken aback at the level of anger suddenly visible in her mother’s face.

"Why him? 'Cause if you're telling the truth then, well, to an outsider it might appear that he took advantage of you in a weak moment. Go away to grieve; come back with a boyfriend. That manipulative, mean-spirited-"

"Mom!" The shrill tone of panic in Rory's voice startles even her. She clenches her fists until they hurt and tries drawing weight from it. When she speaks again her voice shakes with rare anger. "Mom, please, shut up, before you say something you'll regret."

She pants from the adrenaline and from rushing after Lorelai, who in turn looks shook as the crack between them seems to grow to a canyon. Rory turns, and walks back toward the diner. When she reaches the corner she hears Lorelai's heels on the pavement as she walks the opposite way.

 

When she bursts back into the diner she's still furious, and it must show, because neither Jess nor Luke, nor anyone else for that matter, ask her what happened.

"Oh boy." Says Luke as she blows past the counter and upstairs.

She enters the apartment and start rifling around her things at the side of the bed. Jess quietly appears in the door, leans slightly on the frame, face serious.

"Oh, don't worry." Rory growls. "She's not getting away with this. If she thinks she can just go around projecting her own self-loathing on you, or me, and not getting called on it, she's got another thing coming. You tell Luke he's safe. I'm not letting her within 50 yards of him before we've got this thing worked out, and where the heck is my fricking jacket?"

Jess leans over and picks up the garment from the stool by the door, holding it out for her. She slings her bag over her shoulder and walks up to him, grabbing the jacket.

"Go easy on her." He says.

She stomps her foot in frustration.

"You didn't hear her."

"Do what you need to do, just..." He pauses. "You guys don't do so well without each other. Keep that in mind."

She swallows thickly, then leans over and kisses his cheek, before walking out the door. She walks slowly toward the Inn. She's still angry and realizes she couldn't win any argument like that without doing massive amounts of damage. So, she strolls. The morning is beautiful and she tries to let that in. She sits down on a bench a few blocks from the center of the town. Picks up her phone, opens the word processor and finishes her piece, the one she's been dragging around for two weeks. It's not excellent, but it is enough, and she has bigger issues to deal with at the moment. She takes a few moments to appreciate the power of anger. She checks the time and sees that nearly one and a half hour has passed. She puts together her things and walks with increased purpose to the Dragonfly.

 

She takes a seat at the porch outside and waits for her mother. After a while Lorelai sits down next to her, handing her a cup of coffee.

"He didn't take advantage of me," she starts lowly "in fact, it might have been the other way around."

"I find that extremely hard to believe."

"Well, you don’t have all the facts."

"Well, fill me in then".

The idea of telling her mother the entire story gives her vertigo. It's not just these last few days, it spans over a decade and more, and some of her most private, and dark moments are hidden in it. Even from Lorelai. The thought of laying it bare is physically painful. So, she doesn't.

"It's too much, too complicated, and it's between me and him." The last part pains her to say too, but she has no choice. It is true, after all. "You're going to have to take my word for it."

Lorelai looks at her, and the acknowledged distance between them is visible in her face.

"How did this happen, Rory?" She exclaims, marking her words with hand gestures.

"I guess I needed-" She starts. "We hadn’t seen each other for so long and I couldn’t help but feel like…"

"Like what?"

"I don’t know, mom. I haven’t had a chance to think it all the way through. All I know is that he made me feel better. And I can’t really stand the thought of being away from him right now."

"Sounds more like a band aid than a relationship."

Not being able to convince her mother of her standpoint always has her feeling utterly helpless. They're tightly bound together, nothing else can fit that closely to her so any discrepancy between them means that she's essentially alone. More so now, than before, when it was just the two of them grieving differently. She's never been able to make her mother understand her feelings regarding Jess. Not even now, as an adult, does her opinion matter. It stings, and is noticeable in the tremble of her voice.

"I haven’t felt that way in a long time. It’s hard for you to understand because you’ve been with a man you love for nine years. I forget I date people. So, it might not seem like a lot to you, but it is for me."

"Great. A lot. And you expect me to believe this just happened over the weekend? Come on! You must have known-"

"I know it's crazy! And I swear meeting him this weekend, it was pure coincidence, I don't know what else to tell you. But yeah, we probably wouldn't be doing this if it wasn't… us. If we didn't have a history. That's why we're even here, we could have just gone on to New York or Philadelphia, but we didn't."

She taps her cup with her finger nails while thinking, gazing into the foliage surrounding the Inn.

"He's not just anyone. He’s Luke’s nephew, and you can’t carry this grudge around and expect it not to hurt your relationship."

"Yeah, Luke has a blind spot for Jess."

"Maybe you're the one with the blind spot. Me and Luke share this opinion, always had, and it's like that doesn't matter to you."

"Hey, it's because of Luke and you that I feel the way I do about him! He's hurt you both!"

"A long time ago- What about all the years between then and now, hasn't he proven himself enough?"

"Proven himself? Come on! I'm not my mother, am I?"

"I don't know. Are you?"

"Hey!" Lorelai barks, making Rory jerk at the sudden aggression. "If I'm my mother then I'll have you know Emily would've never forgiven him! She can't even forgive me!" Lorelai’s voice breaks and she hides her face in her hands. Rory immediately drops the conversational projectile and leans on her mother’s hunched figure.

“Mom? What’s going on?”

Lorelai sniffles.

“Oh, honey. I messed up… at the funeral.”

“No, you didn’t, I was there.” Rory shakes her head.

“This was later. You and Luke had gone. I was there, and there was whiskey, and mom asked everyone to tell their favorite anecdote on dad, and… I panicked.”

“Oh, mom. What’d you say?”

“I told a story that would’ve been better suited for a farce. There was nudity, puns and paternal outrage… and it wasn’t even close to being my favorite story about him, more like the opposite.”

Lorelai sobs, and it almost makes Rory start crying too. Her mother crying is the worst, scariest thing she knows.

“I don’t know why I said it! I don’t get me!”

Rory puts her arm around Lorelai, who leans her head on her shoulder. They sit like that for a few minutes.

“I’m starving.”

“It wasn’t much of a breakfast. We should go get lunch.”

“Anywhere but Luke’s,” Lorelai says. “Or here.” She adds. “I don’t know what the deal is with chef of the month.”

 

They walk to Al’s Pancake World. Rory keeps her arm locked with her mother’s all the way.

"I take it you tried asking for forgiveness?" Rory tries hesitantly while they're waiting for the food.

"Yes." Lorelai responds staring at the table. "Repeatedly."

Rory sighs. Of course.

“It’ll blow over.” She manages, rather lamely, after her first portion.

“Probably. But how will it leave us? I know I like making fun of her, but I don’t want us just tolerating each other.”

Lorelai looks at her.

“And now this. I hate this distance between us. It’s so…”

“Lonely.” Rory finishes, and Lorelai nods. They look at each other for a few moments, before going back to eating.

 

Afterwards they walk back to the Inn. They're unusually silent, turns out witty banter is hard to muster when you disagree on the big things. Still, the physical proximity is comforting and Rory's grateful that they're able to maintain it. She thinks about her grandmother, and the aforementioned loneliness. Her chest tightens at the thought that Emily doesn't even have the physical nearness of someone she loves anymore. She desperately wishes she could visit her, but is afraid. Too many difficult questions to answer.

“It’s the not knowing." Comes from Lorelai as they climb the stairs to the porch. "I hate surprises. And this one in particular-“

“Mom.”

"He hasn't even apologized!"

Rory turns to face her.

"To you?" She leans in while weighing the words to make her mother think about where accountability is due. Lorelai sighs with audible frustration.

"Well, fine. Has he said he's sorry?"

"No. But he doesn't have to. We are even. Trust me. You can trust me, can't you?"

Lorelai looks at her like she would stomp her foot if she didn’t deem herself above it. Then she sighs again, and walks into the Inn, returning to work. Rory sits down in the foyer. She might have calmed down some, but she meant what she told Jess earlier; she needs to straighten this out before letting her mother get back to Luke and incorporate yet another thing they don't really deal with into their relationship. She loves the two of them and is convinced there is no one better for her mother, but what makes Lorelai feel safe and harmonic with him is also what lets her make her neurotic patterns a default setting in their relationship. Rory wouldn't get into it under normal circumstances, but knows there's a real risk at work if she can't sway Lorelai to give this a chance. If she goes home and allows her dislike to lay around it could mean permanent problems for everyone involved. It's been a while since she felt like the adult in her and her mother's relationship and it's familiar, as well as uncomfortable.

She waits, and reads the papers. Lorelai comes walking past her after a while. Stops and taps her foot.

"You don't have to stick around, I'm fine."

"I'm sure."

"Well?"

Rory sticks out her chin.

"Not leaving until you give in."

"Geez." Lorelai moves on.

Rory pulls out her phone. Gets comfortable while answering some emails, but realizes that this thing where she physically can sit around and wait for a stubborn mother to come around, is highly temporary. She has to go to New York. Soon. She has a trip to London booked for next week, and one to San Diego for next month. Catches herself feeling more tired, than anything else, about the prospect. A while later Lorelai's back, hands on hips. Rory shoots her a glance, then goes back to her phone.

"You know, it's very distracting, you sitting there, doing nothing."

"I am calmly reading. You know what's distracting? You walking around, letting it fester."

"The wi-fi is for actual guests, you know."

"All I hear is it festering." Rory sing songs.

Lorelai rolls her eyes, but walks over and sits down in the chair opposing her.

"You don't need my approval, you know." She starts. Rory tilts her head, and stares at her mother in disbelief. Lorelai ignores it and continues; "You're free to live your life as you see fit."

"Yeah, you're just my mother, my best friend, why should I care about your opinion?"

"I'm just, Rory, I'm not happy about this. I don't trust him with you, and I can't- It's just the worst time for it."

“I'll disagree, if it's all the same to you."

"And that's just one aspect of it; Like you said. He's Luke's family. It's a potential fuss."

Rory clenches her jaws and stares at her lap, her throat hurts. Lorelai plows on.

"Did you even consider what happens if you break up?"

"No, mom.” She looks up, vision slightly blurry. “That's the point."

"Once more, we're at a standstill." Lorelai gets up and gets back to work.

Rory stays sitting, deflated. It’s true, she hasn’t considered fall out if they can’t make it work. Hasn’t thought about this from an outside perspective at all actually. She’s only acted on her need, and as she makes an attempt to think impartially on her situation, she’s aware, for the first time, of the danger. It’s unlike her not to be able to, or even try to think clearly, so why isn’t she more uncomfortable with this? It’s the feeling of it; soft and strong, overwhelming but not destabilizing. It’s how he feels, she remembers. The feeling of the lake, of that stupid blanket, an embrace. For years guys have been a social safety net, a mere perk. The feeling of matter, like it matters - She hasn't missed it, and yet now it feels like she missed out. Like she should cling to this for all she's worth. The only way is ahead, but without her mother backing her up, it seems narrow and uphill.

 

When Rory finally gets back to the diner she feels bent, crooked, bitter. She's spent a few hours at Lane's venting. The closed-sign is turned outward but she tries the door and it’s still open. She understands it’s for her convenience and locks it behind her as she enters. She walks up the stairs. It’s just a day after she and Jess came to a decision but it feels like months. It’s just two days since they fell asleep at the cabin but it feels like years. She enters the apartment. Jess is in the chair with his book, which he closes when she enters, to regard her. She returns his look and sighs, in a combination of relief and disappointment over the day.

“I’m sorry.” He says. She looks at him for a few extra moments to determine how genuine he is about it. But there’s nothing insincere in his face.

“It’s not your fault.” She says. “Things are off with us since grandpa died. We don’t sync. That’s the real reason she’s angry." She tosses her bag on the floor. "She’s sensitive when it comes to you, but she’s in a bad place right now.”

He looks hesitant, maybe even a bit scared, she thinks, but doesn't know if she imagined it.

"Hey, can I ask you a favor?"

"Anything."

She walks over to him and stops close enough to nudge her knees between his. She stands silent for a few moments, then she sits down, leg on each side of him, arching her back slightly and putting her hands in the hair at the back of his neck.

"Do you remember coming to Yale?"

He twitches and stares intently at her, obviously concerned.

"Rory..."

"Look, I don't mean to- It's just... That conviction you had. I was sort of hoping you could summon some of that right now.”

His face softens as she speaks.

“Because I don't feel strong, so I need you to at least fake being sure about this, so I won't waver."

"Okay."

He grabs the back if her neck, pulling her head down to kiss her. His other hand goes under her shirt, stroking her tummy and lower back.

"It's not fake though," he mumbles against her lips "I do believe that."

It doesn't matter if he’s acting out the terms of her request, it still feels good. It still works. She rolls her hips against him and feels him getting hard at that.

"It was so painful saying no." She breathes.

"You don't have to-" He objects.

"And afterwards I wished I hadn't."

"Don't say that."

"Why not? We're here. Why shouldn't I?"

"Take your pick."

He pulls back.

"You need me to be strong now so we can stay together, right?” He goes on. "Back then, maybe you had to be strong for us to stay apart. Because I don't think we could be here now if you hadn't. And I hate that idea, that there's some shitty scale, that things can't just be what they are. That I had to suffer to get better. But at least I could tell myself that you were better off, that you were okay."

"Well, I wasn’t." She knows it’s dark, and somewhat cruel to talk about now, but she needs him to see her like this, know that there was a price she had to pay too. That in this they are the same. There's pain in his eyes, and she returns his look steadily. They stare at each other. She doesn't know what to expect. Then he kisses her again, determined, like she's his. She's intensely relieved at the option he went with and returns the kiss enthusiastically, moaning softly when his hands skim her bra. Then she smiles wickedly and pulls back, leaning her forehead against his, puts her hands on his shoulders and makes eye contact.

"Hey. I took my pick; Maybe since we didn’t get together then, we'll have a chance now, because at least you weren't the reason I dropped out."

He smiles. She continues;

"It was the other way around."

"Yeah."

"You got me out of trouble."

"Yeah. Same as you did for me."


	3. Days (12)

_Your fear of the leading light / If they are with you and your heart won’t fail / To see through a fearless eye / And know that danger finally goes away._

**There's No Leaving Now, The Tallest Man on Earth**

 

**September 2015**

 

When he wakes up she’s the first thing he knows. The second is fear. The third is that she makes it go away despite being the reason he feels it. He moves his body closer to hers, making his presence known by brushing his hand down her shoulder and arm. If she’s awake she’ll press her back to him, if she wants sex she’ll grab his hand and place it somewhere on herself, and he’s taken again by the fact that he gets to know that. To know that part of her. Just a couple of weeks ago he wouldn’t have allowed himself to dream of her that way, any other way though, that couldn’t be helped.

This morning she doesn’t move in response. She’s sleeping deeply, and he's relieved at that. She sleeps erratically at best. Wakes up a number of times every night. Sometimes she wakes him consciously, sometimes not, but he always notices. Her sleeping soundly now might mean she’s starting to land in their new reality. The two of them together. It’s real, he tells himself. Not some warped daydream from one of his bad periods. Real.

They’re at the apartment above the diner. It’s been almost a week. Rory hasn’t wanted to stay at Lorelai’s and he is sort of grateful for that considering. She and her mother speak, but there’s something mechanical about it, like they have to keep themselves in check. A younger version of him would have thought it was good, the natural order of things. But he's grown to realize how much their relationship sustain them. And more to the point, Rory is not happy, which is pretty unbearable. It's just wrong.

Luke's kept his promise though. He’s let them stay there without making a big deal about it. Rory’s already been back to New York for some meeting and seeing her angry friend from Chilton. He’s still stalling. He’s done editing the manuscripts, should head back to Philadelphia but is sort of waiting for direction.

His phone rings, and he almost falls out of bed trying to get to it before it wakes her up. By the second ring he mutes it by answering.

“Yeah?” He hisses.

"Good morning, sunshine!" Comes Chris' voice from the phone.

"Shit!" Jess says between clenched teeth, remembering he was supposed to check in with Truncheon yesterday.

"Just woke up?"

"Yeah, sh- wait." He tosses the phone on the bed and drags on jeans and a plaid shirt that might possibly be Luke's, managing to button a couple of buttons before grabbing the phone and stepping into a pair of slippers. He exits the room and tumbles down the stairs, past the curtain and into the diner, not his most graceful maneuver.

"Out!" Luke says when he sees the phone.

"Going!" He answers, phone squeezed between his shoulder and neck, while he fiddles with the remaining buttons, trying to block out the appreciative sounds and looks from Patty and Babette.

As he leaves the diner he puts the phone to his ear and listens to Chris’ voice falling in and out of the line. Reception in this town is spotty for some reason, so, he walks to Doose’s where he knows it’s okay. As he draws closer to the street corner in question Chris starts making more sense.

"Hey, if you've been talking to me this entire time you're gonna have to start over." He says to Chris who sighs.

"I was asking when you'll be back. Fall is starting to pile up, we need to distribute work. And I wanted you to come with me to meet Jonah tomorrow."

Jess hesitates. While he walks up and down the sidewalk outside of Doose's he spots Lorelai in the Gazebo. She's lost in her own bit of pacing, gesturing animatedly while speaking into her cellphone.

"I can't."

"What do you mean you can't? You're beyond done with your editing and you said you'd be back two days ago."

"Yeah, but that was just a guesstimate. I don't have anything booked until that meeting with Everett Silver next week. You can handle Jonah on your own. He's a poet. It's cake."

"But you said-"

"Yeah, I know I said I'd be back this week, but some stuff's gone down here that I gotta deal with."

"I could really use you. You're the only one who can keep a straight face when he gets on his bullshit about chemtrails, and you make him nervous, so he generally keeps off it when you're there."

"Listen, just stare at him if he starts something. He folds when he doesn't get a reaction. That's it."

The other end is silent for a second.

"What kind of stuff?" Chris whines.

"It's personal- Family trouble." If he's specific Chris will never let him off the phone.

"Oh. Okay."

Another pause, then Chris speaks again, obviously recalling that this isn't the first he's heard of Jess' flakey family.

"Fine, do what you gotta do, but call me if you come back sooner than the Silver-thing."

"Will do."

 

He hangs up and walks closer to the Gazebo and sees Lorelai typing furiously on her phone, mumbling and cursing, deep crease between her eyebrows. As he rounds the corner of the entrance, she tosses her stylus to the floorboards with a force that sends it falling down the stairs.

"Shit!" She says loudly, the anger in her voice mixed with a fair amount of desperation. Then she spots him and sighs exasperated.

"Hi." He goes, and she raises her hand in a sharp wave to acknowledge it. He hesitates for a second before deciding that he has to try.

"I know you hate me at the moment, but can I come up there?" He asks.

"It’s a free country."

He climbs the stairs and hands her the stylus.

"Mind if I ask what’s going on?"

"Yes, but what's done is done." She pauses, then looks at him with tired eyes, and slowly enunciates; "My mother’s angry with me. Won't answer my calls."

"About the thing at the funeral?"

Her chin drops for a fraction of a second before she closes her mouth, shakes her head, scowling.

"Man, that is eerie; you knowing stuff like that from now on."

"Sorry."

"Don’t be all apologetic. It’s unnerving."

Jess clenches his jaws, this is exhausting.

"Sometimes you need to ask forgiveness." He says and tries to put some weight into it.

"And sometimes it makes no difference if you do."

He falls quiet, sighs deeply.

"Yeah." He says, mostly to himself.

He sits down on the other end of the bench. They sit next to each other for a minute in silence.

"Family’s tricky." She finally offers.

"That they are."

"Must be nice, not having to deal with yours too much. Being free." She says, somewhat bitterly.

"Come on, Lorelai." He responds with some edge. "You know that’s not true. I might not see them once a week. But I can’t just walk away. Not anymore."

She looks at him and then away. Stares at the square and shoots out her lower lip repeatedly, like she's actually chewing on a comeback. Then she just takes a short breath and starts talking.

"Sometimes I really miss that time in my life. When it was just me and Rory. No obligations to anyone but her." She pauses, and when she speaks again her tone is strangely soft. "I swear, sometimes I dream of the day I ran off, and I wake up, all exhilarated. I don’t remember it being anything other than scary and necessary at the time. But, my subconscious just feels; freedom."

"Sounds like the selective memory of an optimist." he mumbles.

"Except that's not how it works, right? ‘Cause if it was, I wouldn't have blurted out the worst, first thing that came into my mind when I was supposed to reminisce in public about the great Richard Gilmore, at his funeral, to top things off.” She gives off a short, cold laugh. “It would be great if you were able to control the weeding process a bit more, or at all."

"Yeah, mind's fickle like that. Unreliable narrator."

She actually snorts at that. He has to keep going now. He takes a deep breath, and starts taking before he's ready, because otherwise he won't.

"Liz had good and bad periods, and when I was about seven, we were coming out of a bad one, but it was like, when a dream you had sticks around. I'd have these flashes of the shit we just went through, and... I started expecting the next bad turn. It ruined things between us."

He glances at her. She's watching him in motionless silence. He swallows thickly. Lorelai speaks in a sigh, and with an expression like she can't believe she's saying what she is.

"Jess, you didn't ruin things with your mother with your mind. I'm pretty sure your evil powers aren't that great."

He smiles sternly, then he speaks again.

"Some things you gotta drag around with you forever, you don't get a choice. Maybe your father did wrong by you once too many for you to let it go even if you wanted to. And I know you haven’t forgotten any of the things I did either." He takes a sharp breath and actually winces before saying it; "Lorelai, I don’t know if it helps to apologize, probably not, but I am sorry.”

She stares at him, and does that thing with her lower lip again. Then her features soften.

"You were a kid."

"I was a kid who knew how to hurt people. Granted, someone taught me, but… I could have not done that. Especially not to the people I actually cared about.”

She stares ahead. He does the same, tries to breathe normally. A minute passes before she speaks again.

"I don't hate you. I'm just really scared of what you can do."

He wants to say how he won't, but it sounds hollow, even to himself. He'll never willingly hurt any of them now. But a promise means so little, when experience has taught you differently. He knows Lorelai has learned that, as well as he has, the hard way. He takes another path instead.

"For what it's worth, Rory's got a pretty efficient deflective shield, last time I hurt her it backfired so badly... let's just say she could kill me with her proverbial pinky if she tried."

Lorelai looks at him, more openly than she ever has, he thinks.

"Well, I can't deal with a conflict with her at the moment, so..." She says. "You're off the hook as well, for now. I have battles on too many fronts."

"I'm told I'm an excellent ally."

"Really?"

"Apparently, I know when to shut up, I’m pretty stealthy, and if it came down to it, I could take most people in a fight, verbal and actual."

"I so don’t wanna know how the research process for that went down."

"Fairly painful, and let’s leave it at that."

Their eyes meet and she shoots him a hint of a smile, which he feels himself mirroring. He doesn’t want to push his luck so he clears his throat and gets up. Her smile widens.

“You look like Luke,” she says, voice amused, “sans cap.”

“Sans cap he’s not so bad to look like.”

He resists the urge to put his hands in his pockets.

“Did you have breakfast yet?”

She shakes her head.

“Neither has Rory. You could-“

“I’ll be there in a minute.”

He nods at her and leaves the Gazebo, walking back to the diner, back upstairs.

 

•••

 

She wakes slowly, a clear sign that she's actually been sleeping. Inertia lets go of her with each stroke on her face.

"Hey, you gotta wake up."

Her eyes slowly blink open and she rolls onto her back, looking up at Jess.

"Hi." She yawns.

"Hi. Your mother's here."

She sighs.

"Don't give up." He says.

"Alright." She mumbles and throws her arms around his neck for him to pull her up. He does and the impulse to sling her legs around him runs down her spine before she decides against it, since he seems pretty goal oriented at the moment, and knowing her mother's downstairs is sort of a damper. She swings her legs over the edge of the bed instead, getting up. He grabs his book and heads downstairs. She pulls on jeans and a t-shirt, making sure it's her own and not Jess', no need to escalate the situation.

She walks downstairs and scopes out the place. Jess is sitting at the counter where he has a view over the diner, and he meets her eyes when she enters from behind the curtain. Lorelai enter moments later, looking a bit lost. She looks to Rory who smiles at her and they instinctively move toward the table right between them. Rory shoots Jess a glance and he quickly diverts his eyes to his book. When she reaches Lorelai she leans into her in a silent half-hug. They sit down. Luke appears from the storage and heads towards them, but Jess slides of his stool, grabbing a notepad, the coffee pot, cups, and intercepts him at the table.

"Hi." He says. "Coffee?"

Luke shakes his head and walks off. Rory smiles at Jess, and Lorelai nods fervently in response. He actually serves them and takes their order. They both watch as he returns to the counter.

"Didn't realize you worked here," Luke says as Jess hands Ceasar the order.

"Volunteering."

"Great." Luke says, a somewhat sadistic smile on his face that makes Rory wince when she gets where he's headed. "In that case you can collect orders from my other costumers too. I need to do inventory in the storage anyway. Good to have you back!" Luke finishes.

"I'm not back!" Jess throws after Luke as he disappears back behind the curtain.

Jess sighs visibly, but he walks out to take more orders. Rory glances at Lorelai, and she obviously isn't missing a second of it, amused smile on her face. They watch as Jess picks up orders from a man at the counter and a couple with a baby before stopping at the table with Morey and Babette. They place their orders, Babette grinning curiously at him and Morey expressionless behind his sun glasses as usual.

"This town is so much more entertaining with you in it, Jess!" Babette says as he turns to head back to the kitchen.

"I highly doubt that." He responds.

"No, I mean it, sugar!" Babette insists. "Normally it's up to Morey here to rub everyone the wrong way-"

"To stick it to the man." Morey mumbles.

"But you know, he needs a break, so it's really is good to have you back!"

"I'm not-" Jess starts. Rory and Lorelai burst into laughter simultaneously, and then look back at each other with smiling eyes. Jess obviously swallows his first answer for a nod at Babette, and a; "Great to be back." He walks behind the counter and picks up his book again.

"So, I ran into your beau out in the square earlier," Lorelai starts breezily. "The talking-thing has gotten better, I'll give him that."

Rory knows it's the beginning of a concession, but she's too tired for another round of verbal sparring.

"I just don't wanna fight with you!" She says.

"Me neither!" Exclaims Lorelai. "Much like resistance, it's completely futile."

It's only when Rory feels the relief at her mother's words that she understands how tense she's been.

"So, no more fighting."

"It's not a fight, honey, not really. I just don't understand this. Don't know if I ever will."

Ouch.

"But you’re a grown woman, and if this is your choice, well, then it is. Nothing I say should sway you. And I do mean that. Imagine my life if I’d listened to my parents as an adult."

Rory snorts.

"Messy."

"Messier." Lorelai adds. "Yeah, so, at least if it's all your decision it's your own mess. It's contained, sort of."

They stare at each other for a moment while letting the agreement settle between them. It's not all there, but this means that Lorelai will try at least, she thinks. Jess comes with their breakfast, and she resists the urge to grab hold of his hand, instead she just throws him a glance and tries to make it grateful, without really knowing why. He smiles in response, then leaves them alone.

 

The conversation has immediate effect on Rory's comfort. The past week she's chosen to spend indoors or out of any form of public eye, but a couple of hours after having breakfast with Lorelai, she and Jess are on the grass in the town square reading, she with her head in his lap.

"Better?" He asks after a while.

"Yeah." She smiles and reaches to put a strand of hair falling over his face behind his ear. "I mean she still tried a jab, something about you and me basically being cousins."

"Yikes. What’d you say?"

“I asked her what she and her brother-husband expected.”

Jess topples over with laughter.

"We’re lucky Danish is a soft bread. She’ll leave it alone from now on I think."

He looks at her, obviously impressed.

"You're not bad in a tussle."

"I pick my battles, s'all."

He leans down to kiss her, then looks away.

"I gotta go back to Philadelphia for a few days."

"Okay," she says, finds she really doesn't want him to, strange, since she herself already has been to New York. "When will I see you again?"

"Should be done on Wednesday." He looks at her, she swallows. "I will be back." He continues. "I could get to you wherever. Here, New York, just let me know, okay?"

She nods.

"Sorry." She says. "I'm being silly."

"I don't mind. Silly Rory." He puts his index finger to her tummy. She pinches him.


	4. Weeks (4)

__

 

_I won't be fancy / But I will be free._

**Go Down Easy, John Martyn**

 

**October 2015**

 

"Hi." Jess' slumberous voice cracks through the phone after a few ringing tones.

"Hi," Rory says. "Did I wake you?"

"Yeah- But it doesn't matter, I'm supposed to get up now anyway. But you. It must be, what, three am there?"

"Yeah, I couldn't sleep."

"Okay."

She's comforted by that simple word, by his tone, by the fact that she knows what he's do if they were together now. He'd just hold her. Granted, that is hard to replicate over the phone, over a continent, but there's still that small word of his, the way he says it that, that calms her.

"I miss you." She says mid-yawn.

"Dito."

Silence falls between them and she wishes she could fall asleep like this.

"Hey, do you wanna go to New York for your birthday?

The question shakes something loose in her. She stares into the unnaturally bright night outside the hotel room's window.

"I live in New York," she mumbles.

"You occasionally sleep in New York," he retorts and she can hear the smile in his voice. She smiles back but remains silent. "Or maybe you wanna go to Stars Hollow. Or maybe you have other plans. I just figured I'd ask since it's a week away."

"It is."

"So?" There's a pause. "We don't have to spend it together-" He starts.

"Cork it." She cuts him off, then sighs. "I just don't feel very birthday-e. So, no Stars Hollow." Her thoughts slowly start to make sense to her. "But I like where your head's at. Road trip. Can I pick the town?"

"You get to decide everything."

"Philadelphia."

He laughs.

"You wanna go to Philadelphia for your birthday?"

"I want a road trip to Philadelphia for my birthday. To your place. It's completely unacceptable that I haven't seen it yet."

"No party? No guests?"

"No trouble. Just you and me."

"Hey!" He chides. "It's your wishes that are supposed to come true, not mine!"

"Couldn't I just forfeit it? Oh! We could switch!" She smiles broadly at this point. "Yeah! I could take your birthday instead and we could spend it in Stars Hollow with massive amounts of Indian food and a movie marathon at the book store and-"

"Oh, man." He raises his voice. "So road trip to Philadelphia, huh?"

"Yes please, and I won't apologize for being low maintenance."

He laughs.

"You are not low maintenance."

"No, I guess not," she admits. "You do the driving."

He sighs.

"Deal."

She's about to let him go when he speaks again.

"Wait, where's point A? Where do we drive from?"

She actually gives it thought. Considers her Brooklyn-pad, and that he's too accurate in his description of how she lives there. Realizes that she avoids going there. It's not the pad. Okay, maybe it's a little bit the pad. But her aversion has grown towards it steadily since she got the contract and she thinks it's the fact that she pours money into keeping it, spending almost no time there, and finding she prefers hotels over it any day of the week... And knowing that by now, hotels might actually have been a financially smarter investment.

"Stars Hollow." She says.

"You make no sense."

"But it is my birthday."

"It is your birthday." He concedes.

"Bye." She purrs.

"Goodnight," he says pointedly and hangs up.

She puts her phone away and rolls onto her back, smiling as the sound of his voice resonates in her head, closes her eyes and falls asleep.

She dreams of being in the passenger seat of a car. There’s a dark road ahead and there’s music. Her heartbeat is strong, and the air feels electric. It connects her to everything, the person in the driver's seat, every atom in her body, the past and future. She knows it’s coming but isn’t scared. The swerve just feels like inhaling and when it hurts she knows it’s supposed to, the trick is to keep breathing.

 

A week later she pulls into Stars Hollow right before midnight. She lets herself into the diner where she's meeting Jess. She hasn't been able to get comfortable with staying at her mother's with him. She tells herself she's working on it, just not tonight, she's going for a birthday of smooth sailing if she has a say. She's barely done locking the door behind her when he comes down the stairs and into the dark diner. It's been about ten days since she's seen him and she's been on needles the entire drive here. They both stop in their tracks for a beat at the sight of each other. She exhales audibly, with a hint of squeal, and he responds with a quick, relieved smile, before closing the gap between them, in a few decisive steps.

 

The clock radio shows 00.48 when he leans over toward it. She groans with malcontent at the movement.

"What are you doing?" She whines.

"I'm setting the alarm."

She shakes her head.

"You don't have to."

"Why not? If we don't get up in time the drive's gonna take all day."

"You'll see. Trust me. It's my birthday." At that she pulls him back down, and drags his arm across her body, settles in, and falls asleep.

 

Her phone rings at 4.03 am, and she lets it ring a few extra times for Jess to wake up before picking up, and on a whim, putting it on speaker.

“Hi, mom.”

“Good morning, child.”

Her mother plunges into the story of her birth, and Rory relishes in the familiarity, happier than she has been in a while that her mother insists on doing this even when they’re not at one hundred percent. She turns to Jess who’s on his side looking at her, wide-eyed.

“What the fuck?” He mouths at her and she chuckles quietly in response.

“Every year.” She mouths back. “-doing a split on a crate of dynamite.” She says in unison with her mother moments later, and Jess winces. He stays in bed with her and her phone though, until Lorelai finishes her story.

“Happy birthday, kid.”

“Thanks mom.”

“Are you on speaker phone?”

“No- Yes, I had things to do.”

“At... four in the morning? Jess? Are you there?”

He shoots her a desperate look before answering.

“Yeah, Lorelai… sorry.”

There’s a pause.

“Huh. Stealthy, as promised… and stoic. Hope you liked the story.”

“Immensely.”

“Atta boy. You have a good one, now. Bye, hun.”

“Bye mom. Thanks.”

 

They get up and make breakfast to bring with them. Get in the car and leave Stars Hollow twenty minutes later. Sure, they don't have the best track record with food in cars, but, she's aware, these days, of his spartan way of not eating breakfast when he first wakes up. He always waits at least an hour and sometimes longer when it’s really early. She smiles at the fact that she knows that, and wolfs down her own breakfast while he’s driving. Unknown Pleasures is playing, matching the still dark roads, and the feeling of unavoidable trust embedded in being a passenger. She turns it off as soon as the sun's up though, it makes no sense in daylight, puts on Kill the Moonlight instead.

 

•••

 

The early start serves its purpose and they arrive well before noon. The autumn sun peaks between buildings and contrast of blue sky and red brick, red foliage is spectacular. The unimpressive building holding his apartment is a bit off, the area neither hip nor prestigious but close to the subway. Jess is aware of all these things as he parks the car. When he moved in the decision was highly intentional, he longed for order and quiet. He got a good deal from the landlord just by telling the true story of his boring life. And he wanted the place because there were so many better options for people in his small circle of friends to host parties at. Since then he's only needed to invite groups of people over about once a year, when Chris or Matt have lectured him on social duties. Now he's self-conscious about that. Rory is one of the most social introverts he's ever known and he's embarrassed at his own blatant avoidant behavior, worried she won't like the area, apartment or city in general.

"You sure you don't wanna go straight to Truncheon?" He asks, a bit too hopeful.

"No way!" She says. "I wanna see your place."

He holds back a scowl. It's too late to back out now. It is her birthday. They get out of the car and walk a block before reaching his door.

He watches carefully her as she looks around the place. He grinds his teeth over the fact that he's done so little with it. Because of his meager social agenda, the place is not meant to impress anyone. It has the same old wallpaper it had when he moved in. The furniture seems random, like he picked up what he could get his hands on at a yard sale. And he swears internally at the accuracy of that feeling. Everything is hand-me-downs; A lot of Matt's stuff from their old apartment that his wife didn't want to keep when the two of them moved in together. He shakes his head at himself and to rid himself of that inadequate feeling. Rory walks into the kitchen, and he thanks his lucky star that he keeps it clean.

"How long have you lived here?"

"Almost five years."

She raises her eyebrows.

"Yeah, I know, time flies. We're lucky I actually got rid of the moving boxes at one point."

"And before that?"

"I lived with Matt and Chris. Then Matt got married and it was impossible to live with Chris without him."

"How so?"

"I don't know, Matt's the entrepreneur, Chris the artist. He's a lot of fun, but he sucks at anything practical, I had to do all the house work."

She nods, seemingly pleased that it wasn't the other way around.

 

She walks into the living room and immediately starts inspecting the book shelves. He smiles. She bends over to read the backs at the lowest shelf.

"Those are all Truncheon books." He informs her. She looks up, broad smile on her face, and he swears she's skipping a bit while straightening her body back up. He chuckles a bit as the thought appears; She's dating her dealer. She turns around and stiffens as her gaze falls on a lone, black and white, post card on the wall. Dammit.

"Simone de Beauvoir!" She says and points to it.

"Yup."

She looks at him questioning.

"What? She's one of the pillars of second-wave feminism!"

Rory smiles and shakes her head.

"She had a thing with Sartre, you know," he tries.

She rolls her eyes.

"Who doesn't know that? So, she's up there in capacity of love interest?"

"Look, it's just a pretty picture."

"Oh, so she's up there 'cause of her looks?"

"Come on!"

She steps closer to the card, skims its edges with her fingers, and pulls out the drawing pin keeping it in place. She turns the card over and a broad smile spreads on her face.

"I gave you this." Her eyes gleam.

"Huh." He says, but can't really keep from smiling.

"'Happy birthday, Jess. Love, Rory.'" She reads. "It came with a book."

"Obviously" He responds. "But what book?"

She bites her nails, distant gaze. Then squeezes her eyes shut and frowns before exclaiming;

"The Robber Bride!"

He smiles.

"Should I take it down?"

She looks up, eyes alive, and then puts the picture back up.

"No." She says. “She’s an icon. Unlike Naomi Shropshire.”

“May I suggest you don’t waste time telling someone else’s wacky story when you could write your own?”

“No, you may not, but now you’ve just blown right past that.”

“It’s probably not a good idea writing the biography of someone you loathe.”

Rory smiles.

“I could write yours. Oh! It’ll be like the birthday-trade! We write each other’s biographies!”

“We did not trade birthdays!”

“Twin-biographies.”

“Huh. Maybe a bit embarrassing writing the biography of someone you’re sleeping with. Blind love isn’t really a good basis for dynamic writing.”

“Well, neither is seething hatred.”

She looks at the postcard and then back at him, soft smile.

“Blind love?”

“Except I think I see you pretty clearly.”

“Please. You're the reason that expression was invented.”

He smiles and she cranes her neck to close the distance between their faces. He goes in for a peck but it stumbles into a kiss pretty quickly and he feels as if his chest is quaking. It's just a stupid postcard, but it's something there. She wraps herself around him, grabbing hold of his shirt, pulling him with her towards the remaining room.

As she enters the room she almost immediately folds over with laughter when she sees his single-bed.

"What?"

"The bed of a perpetual bachelor!"

"Where do you get this shit? Obviously, your sources are wrong."

With that he pulls her close, and pushes them both onto the bed.

 

A while later they’re both under the gray bedsheets, half her body rests on his, her head on his shoulder.

“Why, mister,” she drawls. “The size of your bed may much facilitate physical intimacy, but, now that you’re done with me, it beckons me to leave your side.”

“I’ll get a new one, miss O’Hara.”

There’s a gust against his neck from her silent laugh.

“So this other birthday of mine isn’t so far away,” Rory goes on, “I think I’m gonna wish for a big surprise-party in Stars Hollow-“

“How is it a trade if you get to decide what to do for both days?” He calls.

“Don’t argue with me on my birthday!”

“Oh boy.”

“I thought you said this was your idea of a dream-day!”

“Being ruthlessly mocked over my choices of wall art isn’t exactly at the top of my list. I actually am low maintenance, just not that low.”

“Fine, Jess. What do you wanna do for my birthday?”

He’s silent for a couple of seconds.

“This is kinda nice.”

“A day in bed?”

“With you.”

“Simple.”

“If it makes you feel any better we can recite poetry to each other.”

She laughs, then falls quiet.

“You know.” She says after a while. “Sometimes a birthday is about more than yourself. My grandma threw me a terrible party when I turned sixteen. She didn't even know me at the time, but it was well-intentioned. So, imagine someone who knows you planning something for you. I think I see you pretty clearly too."

There's a twinge in his stomach at her words. The things he shows her, she sees clearly, that he knows. But there are other things, that have yet to surface. Things he never shows to anyone.

The bed has them facing the living room, with the crowded, rickety-looking bookshelves on either side of Matt’s old couch in dark green corduroy.

"Uhm, honey," she starts, all deliberate-like, about a minute later.

"Yes darling?" he enunciates.

"I don't mean to be all ball and chain-y, but if you're expecting me to... keep a toothbrush here-"

He snorts.

"-We’re gonna need a bigger shelf." She finishes, and he’s never smiled so widely over a bad movie reference.

"Maybe even more than one."

"Probably."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art at the top by the awesome fayevalcntine, and there's more where that came from on tumblr.


	5. Months (3)

_Do you wanna get understood? / Do you want one thing or are you looking for sainthood? / Do you run when it's just getting good?_

**Do you, Spoon**

 

**December 2015**

  
"Finally gave up the Brooklyn pad for walls you can actually lean on? Kudos."

Paris' words echo down the staircase hall from where she's standing, in the doorway of Jess' apartment. Rory smiles to resist the urge to bite back. Actions speak louder than words after all and helping a friend move a hundred miles in December wouldn't exactly be at the top of anyone's wish list. But here she is anyway, her angry friend, helping out like she was a plain one. To be fair, so is Lane, and she hasn't even pointed out the difference in the effort they've put in so far. Rory shoots off an intended grateful smile at her friend who's helping her sidle her favorite comfy chair up the stairs at the moment.

"Wow." Lane growls at Paris. "If you could carry as many boxes as you do syllables, we might actually have time for a drink before I have to get back to Stars Hollow."

There it is. Rory stifles a chuckle to keep her grasp of the furniture. Lane's comment has no effect though.

"Yeah, about that;" Paris starts. "I don’t care which beatnik writer you’re trying to be, when you’re over thirty you hire a moving service. Friends don’t ask friends to help them move."

"Won't happen again, Paris." Jess says as he makes his way up the stairs with yet another box of books. He passes them at the twist, winks at Rory and adds; "And you're going for Salinger, right?"

"You're killing me!" She hisses as she continues struggling the chair up the steps.

"Be right back." He says and hurries into the apartment.

"And, you!" Paris shoots at him. "Don't you have any big, strong, boyfriends who could do the carrying, or is this the price Rory pays for your hermit ways?"

"It's in the middle of the week, Paris!" Rory retorts in Jess' place. "People work."

Paris points to herself.

"Yes, you're an awesome friend." Rory confirms in a sigh. Jess returns and takes over for Lane at the bottom end of the chair and he and Rory carries it in through the door.

"Hey," he says, "we're lucky I'm off the hook at work, I was supposed to be in Baltimore."

"Well, thank heavens you're here," Paris snarks. "We couldn't have managed without you!"

"Paris, I'm serious!" Lane exclaims. "Do you know how long it's been since I've had time away from the kids? I was promised a night out, and if your infernal yapping is the reason I miss out, we're gonna have a problem! Less talking, more carrying!"

 

They´re done pretty soon after that. She hasn't brought much furniture, her double bed replacing his single, her chair and the secretaire her grandfather left her. Kitchenware and boxes and boxes of books, for that reason she also brought her bookcases, but she takes a look at the sheer number of volumes they own combined, and knows that they're going to need to build some wall fixed shelves to accommodate them all. Her clothes are in bags, mainly in the bedroom, but also the small guest room that's going to have to house extra wardrobes now, all of Jess' stuff fitting neatly in one bureau and a single cabinet. It's early evening by now and Rory's rifling through the bags. She's already in black jeans and a white blouse but not quite happy with it for a night out, no matter how tired she is. Paris and Jess are doing their best to create some sort of order in the living room and Lane's pacing the hallway.

"What are you doing?" She calls to Rory.

"I'm looking for my lucky outfit."

"You moved in with your boyfriend today, you don't need luck to get lucky anymore!"

Rory rolls her eyes at her, then goes back to looking.

"Never mind that now, finish tomorrow." Lane stomps her foot. "We're going for drinks."

Rory sighs, but gives in. As she and Paris put on their jackets Lane turns to Jess.

"You coming?"

He smiles, and Rory shakes her head, of course not.

"I better hang back. There's still unpacking to do, but you shouldn't deal with that. You took the trouble of coming all the way here, you should spend some time with the reason you did that." He nods at Rory.

"Oh, come on!" Lane tries.

"Leave him alone, Lane!" Paris says. "He probably needs time to pen some incoherent, nihilistic, phallocentric poetry to turn into wall art."

Lane gapes at Paris and Rory laughs. Jess turns to them and shrugs.

"She's right, you know. That phallocentric poetry isn't going to write itself. Go."

Lane practically rushes out the door. Jess pulls out a key from his back pocket and hands it to Rory.

"Yours." He says with a peck on her lips, then turns to Paris. "Have a good Vagina Dialogue."

Paris flips him off and he waves at her with a wiggle of his fingers. Rory drops the key down her bag and walks out the door, with a firm grip on Paris' arm.

 

They exit the building into the damp and rather cold December night, Lane skipping a few feet ahead and Rory and Paris following, arm in arm.

"I have to admit, it's a distinct step up from Brooklyn." Paris says, in a rare feat of softness. Rory even moves her head to shoot her a skeptical look.

"Really?" She says. "No jokes about me fleeing the city for the simple life? No backhanded comments about the nearest acceptable bar being in New York?"

"Why? Is it that bad? Where are we going?"

"Depends, we could go down town, but there are a few pubs a couple of blocks down, oh! And a great taqueria one street over."

Lane stops suddenly and Rory and Paris almost bump into her.

"One street over? Which way?"

Rory points, and Lane gets going, like a bloodhound.

"No need to decide apparently." Rory says.

"Taqueria means Margaritas" Paris says. "I'm game."

 

The restaurant isn't big, but loud. Despite it being Wednesday the place is crammed, the only free seats are by the window, and the buzz of conversations mix with the deep house from the speakers mounted on the walls. They order food at the bar and Lane insists on tequila shots before ordering a Margarita pitcher, and they grab the bar table at the window.

Paris goes to get napkins and Lane sits down next to Rory.

"So. I can't believe you're moving in with Jess!"

"It's not so much moving into his apartment as it is moving out of mine."

Lane stares at her in disbelief.

"We're more like roommates.” Rory continues. “I still travel a lot and he is my boyfriend, so it makes sense to keep most of my stuff at his place, I've sent a bunch of boxes to Stars Hollow too."

Lane narrows her eyes and cocks her head to the side.

"Hey, explain something to me; You're always with someone, it's Rory-law, right?"

"I'm not always with someone-" Rory starts, but Lane goes on.

"Why else would a IUD be your contraceptive of choice? Why else would you officially date someone you had trouble remembering the name of? So, my question is; why are you suddenly trying to play this casual?"

Rory fidgets in her seat, not really sure why she's uncomfortable. Tries to be dismissive, but Lane is of course nowhere near discouraged.

"I mean, it's obviously a relationship, and it's one you care about, seeing as how you practically fell off the grid when it started - Like you're supposed to, might I add. It's not supposed to be business as usual when you get together with someone. You're supposed to contemplate some actual life-changes, adjustments, and here you are changing cities for this guy, when you wouldn't even take a half-day for the last one. So, I guess what I'm trying to say is; Could you try to not ruin this?"

Rory puts her hands up.

"I'm just trying to keep it real."

"Real? As in rooted in reality? Well, in that case it's a total failure: You're completely deluded if you think he sees you as a roommate!"

"I know he doesn't, I just don't want to put unnecessary pressure on this. It's only happening because my apartment in Brooklyn went condo."

Lane stares at her in that insane Kim-way that's impossible to ignore.

"It is happening because he's crazy about you, and pretending that this isn't dead-serious is not going to do you any favors. Try keeping that real."

Paris appears, with the Margarita-pitcher, and fills their glasses.

"I think you're being a tad over-dramatic. He's a really pragmatic person."

"Excuse me, do you even know your boyfriend? Anyone that into books is a romantic, why else would you spend all your time around fairytales?"

"You're making me nervous." Rory whines. "Maybe this isn't the easiest thing for me. I don't have the best track record of living with anyone besides my mother."

"And me." Paris says.

"And you." Rory admits.

"And me." Lane adds.

"And you. I guess." The memory of the wacky sitcom that was her college dorm room floods back. "But it wasn't optimal."

"Oh, you're expecting optimal circumstances when you share your home with someone?" Lane says with a look that makes Rory feel like a child. "The best you can hope for is optimal under the circumstances."

"Yeah," Paris fills in. "People piss each other off, and I'm not just saying that because I'm me. Me and Doyle are in a constant state of war since, at least five years back."

"And Zack is like furniture to me most days."

"How is this helping?" Rory asks, a hint of panic in her voice.

"Right, we're helping. It's helping because..." Paris taps the brim of her glass with her nails, before going with; "Because peace and order is overrated? It's not so bad hating each other's guts. I'm certainly not indifferent to Doyle, and I miss him when he's not there, I have trouble sleeping without him, plus, you know, I've seen what's out there. There's no one else who can match me in angry, he doesn't scare so easily. And this I say even if he's obsessed with Hollywood lately, and has started wearing really embarrassing clothes."

"And, you can't grow up like I did without being really attached to your furniture." Lane interjects.

"Fine. Practice makes perfect-adjacent." Rory says, not really able to calm down. "But you've lived with the same guys since college. Since then I've shared an apartment with exactly one guy; remember Toby?"

"No." Paris says.

"Vaguely. I was sure his name was Troy, though." Lane says. "But you started out renting a room from him, right?"

"Oh, then it doesn't count." Paris says.

"Why not?" Rory protests.

"Marriage of convenience." Paris retorts.

"And this isn't?"

"No."

"You make no sense.”

“And you’re not focusing," Paris snaps her fingers, "you were saying something about Tony?”

"Toby. Right. We lived together and split amicably. He got a job overseas, and it was obvious that he should go and that we'd break up in the process because, no point trying a long-distance relationship, right?"

"Right."

"So, a year later we ran into each other at this function, and he had his girlfriend with him, and we exchanged pleasantries and it was no big deal. But then, when I was going home I remembered our inside jokes and the sounds he made in his sleep. And I started thinking that we used to be into each other, and why didn't any of this matter to me? We lived together for god's sake and shouldn't running into him have had a bigger impact on me? And I- I remembered how torn up I was over-" She lowers her voice. "-Logan. And Dean, so much in fact that I couldn't even enjoy being with Jess. And Jess, whenever he'd appear, I'd be a mess." She gestures for emphasis. "I just decided then that not caring was part of growing up, like, rolling better with the punches, you know? But lately, it feels like there was something wrong with me, and what if... What if it was the living together? He was furniture, and you know I don't care about that!"

“You’re mixing metaphors here, or something.” Lane protests. “But that one's easy; you didn't love Tad."

"Toby. Why would I live with someone who I didn't love?"

"Oh, come on, Rory." Lane starts.

"What?"

"You make choices exclusively from how well they fit with your life at the moment. Which is a bit odd for someone so goal-oriented." Paris continues.

"And you adapt. Like if you need to convince yourself of a certain thing you do that. It's sort of a super-power. You can convince anyone of anything, including yourself." Lane finishes.

Rory’s appalled.

"You make me sound like this awful person."

"There is nothing awful about a woman focusing on her career." Paris says loudly.

"Yeah, there are no rules anywhere saying that you have to prioritize your personal life, in fact, if it wasn't for mrs Kim, I'm not sure I would've."

"But Tobias- Toby, was a person. You can't treat people like pawns."

"No?" Paris says.

"No." Rory attests.

"Did he mind?" Paris asks, and Rory rolls her eyes.

"You're under no obligation to love anyone." Lane points to her. "No one can force you to do that."

"Oh, my god!" Paris exclaims. "Enough with the guys! We have to drop this."

"Not until she sees reason!" Lane responds "You give it a try if you think you can drive it home."

Paris sighs.

"You're going about it all wrong anyway. Romance and fairytales? Please."

She turns to Rory.

“I get why you’d be freaked; Your dad was shit, which made you terrified of losing any affection handed to you, so when someone you actually had any interest in came along you ran away from it to keep the safety you knew you had. And when Logan screwed you over you'd adjusted to that being an acceptable level for romantic love, and when that ended you just decided ‘better safe than sorry’ and that’s been your motto since. But now you and Jess have officially moved in together. And it’s not because it makes sense, in fact it’s the exact opposite. Do you honestly think that would happen if it was anyone else you’d been dating for three months? No. It’s because you’ve been on this trajectory since you first met. You better recognize.”

Then she looks back to Lane who looks stunned, and a bit pale.

"See? No use arguing with her, you just gotta be decisive."

“Dude.” Lane says. “Too real.”

Paris turns back to Rory.

“I’m sorry, was that too harsh? My therapist thinks I have a tendency for over-aggression.”

Rory’s lower lip trembles, then she laughs nervously.

“Just promise me you’ll never become a therapist yourself.” She settles with.

As the conversation turns to Doyle's latest fashion choices and what they implicate about the state of the nation, she pulls out her key chain and fishes up the key to the apartment from the bottom of her bag. She weighs it in her hand for a second before angling it on.

 

•••

 

He's unpacking a box of kitchen-ware when he hears the door. The clock on the wall shows midnight. He listens to mumbling voices as they make their way from the hallway into the living room. After a while there's a creak in the floor boards by the door.

“Hi.” Comes Rory's voice from behind him.

He turns. She leans on the frame of the door and watches him. Beautiful, a little unsteady, sort of blurred around the edges. He's hit hard with the feeling in the pit of his stomach, that need to close any distance between them, the same one he's fought for years. Them being together has diffused some of it, but it mainly feels like it's shifted focus, changed places. Moved to his mouth, where he clenches his teeth and bites the inside of his cheek and holds his tongue and chews on his lips to prevent himself from saying "I love you" on every exhale, to keep from starting spilling, to tell all. A big part of him is locked in struggle still, and he doesn't know how to stop that, or even if he could or should.

“Hi.”

“Lane took the couch. Thanks for laying out the bedsheets.”

“I'm a people-pleaser. Paris?”

“In a hotel. ‘When you’re over thirty you pay for a bed. Friends don’t crash at friends’ couches.'”

“It’s her money.”

“It certainly is.” Her gaze rolls him over. He smiles a little, it's just a hint of what he feels at the fact that she wants him.

“You drunk?”

“Yup. Pitcher at Mamacita's.”

His smile widens.

“Good.” Three steps close the gap between them and he presses her against the wall, hands in her hair, kissing her. Her sharp exhale comes out as a whimper, and he pulls back to see what’s up.

“You okay?”

“I’m happy.” The unguarded expression on her face lets him know she didn't plan to let him know that, and she follows it with; “Sorry.”

He frowns at the word, at the pinch in his chest. Is that pity? No, recognition. He scraps his first impulse; to tell her to shut it, that there's nothing to be sorry about, and decides to vent a little himself. He has to brace himself though, not to let too much slip. He steps back into her frame.

"I am too."

"Sorry?"

"Happy."

"Right." Her voice trembles a little, in that one syllable. He tries to remember when he last used the word in reference to his own feelings, if ever, and continues speaking, eyes closed.

"But it’s hard for me to say. Feels like jinxing it, right?"

"Right." No steadier this time.

"Except you’re not." He says.

"No?"

He opens his eyes and makes sure she looks at him.

"No such thing. You’re the author. You decide what’s gonna happen."

She half-smiles. Leans back against him.

"You and your words."

He shrugs.

"I’m the co-author."

"Stop it. I'm drunk, I can't keep up."

“So, what’s gonna happen?”

“Now or from now on?”

“I am curious about from now on, but I’ll settle for now, for now.”

“I have a few ideas. I could share ‘em, just keep lively discussion to a minimum. We have a guest.”

 

He usually doesn’t dream, at least he doesn’t remember anything other than his nightmares. Which interestingly have gotten more frequent since he got back together with her. That night he dreams of being in the passenger seat of a car. It’s a bumpy ride. He feels weightless, every jerk of the vehicle tosses him around like a mitten in an autumn storm, he’s not wearing a seat belt and checks for one, but can’t reach it. He can barely see out the window, the car, the seat, is impossibly big. He looks to the driver’s seat and finds it empty. Then the car hits something and he’s flung through the air.

He wakes from his own gasp, his body moving to accommodate it. His hand drags over his forehead searching. The digits of his alarm clock show 04.17. Something warm and soft wraps itself over him, pushing him back down. Rory.

“Hey.” She mumbles. “Whatcha dreamin’, and what for?”

His breaths lose their sharpness. He pulls her closer, in their bed, their apartment. Holy hell, they’re living together.

“Nothing. It’s over.” He says. “Done with.” Then he rolls them both over, kissing her until her pull gives him weight again.

 

"Lane? Are you okay?” Jess calls through the bathroom door a few hours later. “You gotta go if you wanna catch your bus. Rory told me to tell you!”

Rory left around seven to get back to Brooklyn, to clean her apartment. He’s on receptionist-duty at Truncheon, and has to stay in the city. He can’t get going until he has sent Lane on her way back to Stars Hollow though. Unfortunately, she’s hung over in the worst way, and he's been pacing the hallway for the last fifteen minutes to listen for signs that she's getting it together in there.

"Lane?" He tries again. "It's eight forty-five."

Muffled cursing makes its way through the door. Then the lock clicks open and Lane sticks out her head, her dark hair sticking in all directions.

"Sorry." Jess says and hands over her remaining clothes. "Get dressed, I made you breakfast to go, but we gotta go."

Lane groans in response and closes the door. Jess puts on his jacket and resists the urge to tap his foot. It's no disaster if he's late, but buses to Hartford aren't frequent and he really hasn't the time to drive her home. But she's fast, and emerges from the bathroom moments later, pulling on shoes and jacket. They exit the apartment and building and quickly walks down the street. The subway is just a block over and he's heading there also. He's grateful of the hurry because it prevents a conversation. He likes Lane, but they haven't talked properly in twelve years, and even then, it was all music.

When they get to the subway station he leads her to the right track, he has to reach out and grab her arm a few times since the combination of her big dark glasses and her hangover acts like blinders. They hop a train taking them downtown, and take a seat next to each other. He hands her the brown paper bag containing her breakfast.

"Thanks."

He nods. Tries to think of something to say, thinks he should. Every second seems to last an eternity, so after a few he panics, and tries opening his mouth in the hope of something coherent automatically emerging.

"So, uhm..."

"Oh, please don't bother with the chit-chat. Lane goes. He closes his mouth abruptly. Lane clears her throat, and continues, a tad apologetic in tone. "Trust me, your partial mutism is the thing I like best about you at the moment."

He sighs. Lane turns and pulls down her sunglasses to make eye contact with him.

"Don't worry Jess." She says. "You were always my favorite, even when I was pissed at you. I think the two of you is a good idea."

He's startled by her admission and apparent about it, apparently, because she looks at him searchingly and speaks again.

"And you're wondering why, because you're supposedly this big, bad influence."

He opens his mouth to protest, sort of, but she goes on.

"Well, for one thing, I reject that discourse. And secondly; parents are supposed to adapt to their kids' choices of romantic partners, not the other way around."

He frowns, unsure what she's getting at. She sighs.

"If my mom had approved of a boyfriend of mine on the first try it would mean she hadn’t had any of her values challenged by him, and that would be bad news for the boy in question. But, that goes without saying when it comes to my mother, it was my motto from early on. Rory couldn't learn that lesson because Lorelai's awesome, and I love her, but it doesn't make it less valid."

"So, you like me 'cause Lorelai doesn't?"

"Look, you can't expect me to make much sense under the circumstances." Lane whines. "I started in the wrong end. I like you 'cause some of your badass is rubbing off on Rory and she needs that, and because you adore her. To be fair, I can't give only you props for that, she is a popular girl. But you have a wicked taste in music."

He chuckles.

"Hope that settles it," Lane yawns, "I'm too tired to go on, and am giving myself a headache, and my stop is coming up."

"Thank you." He says, giving her a nod and smile. "For everything."

"It's no trouble." She gets up, walks to the doors, and waves as she exits the train.


	6. Winter

_In a world where everyone is an island / I find myself there waiting at the shore._

**Islands & Shores, Deportees**

 

**January 2016**

 

They drive to Hartford together. Rory makes a special effort when she hears her mother's planning on using Kirk's driving service. She's actually read his reviews, and it just... it wouldn't be good.

 

The size of the thing is absurd, absolutely, and she would have chosen a different photo for reference, one where he didn’t look quite so stern, but… She definitely wouldn’t mind a picture of her grandfather for herself, is surprised that she hasn’t seen to it already, and makes a note to herself to dig out the old picture from her grandparents' wedding renewal when she gets home.

Right. Home. Emily's comment on her looking radiant and in love wasn’t technically wrong just because it was intended to reflect on the influence of another man than the one she’s with. And neither was responding that Emily had in fact already met him. But fine. It isn’t all on the up and up. She’s so her mother’s daughter. Stalling, avoiding, withholding. It has to stop.

Is Lorelai still on the painting? Time to get in there before the evening derails.

“It’s a nice picture of grandpa.” She says firmly, placing a hand on her mother’s arm to stop her from talking. Lorelai looks at her, annoyed, but Rory won’t let herself be discouraged. Tries to communicate with her mother telepathically. Can’t you see what I’m doing? It’s my turn to stick my hand into the piranha-infested water now. “I actually have some news.”

“Oh?” Emily turns to her, eyebrows moving from irritability to curiosity.

“Remember me telling you about my apartment going condo?” Later she will kick herself for starting with this angle as it just makes the whole thing more complicated.

“Yes.” Emily starts, smiling with anticipation. “Are you possibly moving in with Pete?”

“Paul. And no. We broke up.”

“No more boyfriend?”

“No more Paul.”

“Since when?”

“August.”

There's silence. Her grandmother doesn't ask why. Silent recognition, understanding even, between the three is rare, but here it's not surprising. She considers their different situations. Breathes the frosty air between her mother and grandmother. Tries to rank who's worse off. They share the loss, but seem to experience it in such different ways. Emily's left alone. Lorelai's haunted by dark memories, and she herself is torn between the two, missing the only man who ever seemed both genetically and emotionally attached to and concerned for her. But she and her mother always have each other. There’s distance between Emily and them, space they actively have to work to close.

“I am dating someone now, though.” She starts, even though every fiber of her being screams at her to stop. She pushes through, this is communication, inclusion.

“Of course you are.” Emily says. “Always such a popular girl.”

Lorelai stifles a snicker beside her and she resists the urge to poke her mother in the side. Instead she takes a breath and forces herself to continue.

"It's Jess. You might remember him from when I was a teenager? He was here for dinner once."

As expected Emily's expression takes a turn for the more guarded.

"I remember. Less bruised these days, I hope."

"Yeah, that wasn't really-" She starts, but is interrupted.

"It's a bit more than dating, though." Lorelai says, and Rory glares at her.

"Really?" Says Emily.

"Yeah, well, that’s why I brought up my apartment.."

"You're living together."

"Sort of. I keep most of my stuff there."

Lorelai rolls her eyes.

"Sort of?” Emily’s tone is one of irritation by now. ”Do you or do you not live together? You’re describing a warehouse, not a home. I swear, this family..."

"They live together." Lorelai closes.

"In Philadelphia?"

"Yes."

"A clear answer. Progress. So, why hasn't he joined us tonight?"

"He's in New York with work, there's an expo coming up and they're doing a co-lab with a few other publishing houses to spread the wealth so to speak, they're sorting out the specifics this weekend."

"Oh, well, bring him for next time." Emily takes a sip of her drink and pauses while swallowing. "Provided you're still together that is." There it is. Rory clenches her teeth behind a tiny smile. "And if you are; try not to get stuck in that live-in-situation for too long, like your mother. Personally, I don't see how it's much different from being somebody's roommate, but I suppose it makes dating a tad more convenient."

Strange how she can experience the burn of the words and at the same time admire her grandma’s swiftness with them. Emily Gilmore needs no other weapon than her tongue.

“Nice one, mom.” Lorelai sighs. “For the last time; me and Luke aren’t roommates!”

“I wasn’t talking to you, Lorelai. I was talking to Rory.”

“Yeah, using me like some sort of back-handed bat!”

"Well, you apparently need to be reminded that you are the older of the two of you. When you die or you or Luke walk out on one another, I'll panic on Rory's behalf, up until then I'll just tap my foot at you. You've been with this man for ten years and you claim it's permanent, so why not actually make it permanent? The only explanation I can muster is that you don't really mean it."

"Oh, come on mom! We do not need to get marriage to be permanent, we don't need to prove anything to each other, or to you!"

"What you need to do is set an example for your daughter!"

"She's a grown up!"

"And apparently a grown up with commitment issues, referring to her partner and supposed home as storage, I wonder where she gets it?"

"Hey! I don't-" Rory tries, but Emily goes on.

"And with someone related to Luke too, who probably won't move an inch without being told so. Well, I guess the way you girls wear the pants in your relationships the men you're with would have to be related in order for it to work."

"Grandma!" Rory says, firmly this time. "You don't know what you're talking about." She's beyond relieved that Jess couldn't make it, but seems to be able to channel some of him.

"No, only business concerning my daughter and granddaughter, what could I possibly know?"

"I didn't bring this up to 'cause trouble. I brought it up because I wanted you to know. It seemed important." She stifles a sigh. "But now it feels like we should change the subject. I don't think this is going anywhere constructive."

That's it. She decides to move on. She lets the issue go. She's never felt comfortable escalating fights, but has been plenty frustrated just the same. Now, she takes a breath and counts to ten. She's older and knows, from experience, that little to nothing changes in this family. But that's a source of comfort also. They're dysfunctional, not abusive. And what little changes, usually changes slowly. One step at a time. This is a step forward for her, an attempt to open up and let her grandmother in. It's important to have taken, and she hears Rome wasn't built in a day.

"How are the girls in the DAR?" She asks when they've moved to the dinner table.

Emily sighs, and starts up with the latest from the organization, but it's obvious her heart's not in it. Rory follows up with questions about the people she remembers, but this topic, as well as any other she introduces, doesn't seem to bring the color back to Emily's cheeks. Non so much as arguing with her daughter and granddaughter. Communication, contact, at any cost.

“What happened to that biography you were writing?” Emily asks her after a while.

“That fell through.” Rory says, before catching her grandmother's disapproving glance again. Those pesky words. "I decided not to do it." Better.

"Probably just as well." Emily says. "I for one have never heard of that woman, there must be someone better deserving of your talents."

"And of having their biography written to begin with." Lorelai adds.

"Obviously." Rory says, with a smile.

 

After dinner she excuses herself to use the bathroom, but walks into Richard's study on her way back, to call Jess. He picks up at the second ring, voice elated.

"D'you have fun?" He asks, and she can't tell if he's intentionally mocking her.

"You're lucky you're in a different city, 'cause I would've strangled you if you'd asked me that at arm's length."

"Lucky me."

"Yeah." She says somewhat longingly. There's a tumble in the background, supposedly as a door opens to a party. "Sounds like you're having fun?"

"We have good friends and colleagues here. And we're sort of celebrating. Matt just found out Katey's pregnant."

"What! That’s great!”

"Yeah, he's totally freaking out."

"So naturally you're taking him out for drinks."

"Well, he's not leaving New York tonight anyway, might as well."

She shakes her head.

“Put him on the phone.”

“Hold on.”

She listens to Jess’ muffled voice blending together with the increased background noise, then Matt, a bit shrill, comes on the line.

“Rory?”

“Daddy?”

“Shut up!” He laughs desperately.

“Oh my gosh, Matt!” She tries to not sound too much like a cheerleader. “Congratulations!”

“Is that the word?”

“That is the word, the intention, the accurate thing!”

“You sure?” He sounds vulnerable, but happy.

“I’m positive. The two of you are gonna do so great. I’m so happy for you.”

“Your confidence is comforting.”

“Just a tip; you’re going back first thing tomorrow right?”

"Yeah."

“Don’t be hungover." She says decisively. "Katey’s facing nine months of forced sobriety, and you coming home reeking will not be good.”

"Okay."

"Give me Jess back." She waits for the switch, and until the background noise is muffled again, then; "Don’t let him go off with those guys from Papertrade, Katey was beyond pissed the last time. I can’t believe you thought going out drinking was a good idea!"

"Hey, a bender is never my idea... these days."

"But you’re an enabler, aren’t you?" She teases. There’s silence on the other end, making her think she might have hit too close to home. She changes the topic instead. “Hey, are you wearing your navy blazer?”

“Why?” She hears the smile in his voice.

“It’s nice.” She purrs. “You’re nice.” She imagines him, out on some terrace or hallway or smoking room, clasping the phone. Wishes once more she could inhabit that space of his, his chest. To actually feel what he does. To understand why he's quiet, how he can be quiet when she has nothing but words tumbling around her head, mouth. Is he serene? Or is it noisier on the inside? “I wish I was there. I miss you.”

“Yeah,” he says, a little unevenly. “Day after tomorrow, right?”

The thought is there as sudden and bright as lightening. The words. Those are the ones she’s looking for. But she can’t speak them. Because they’re holding phones instead of each other and her throat is full of sandpaper anyway. She hears him breathing over the line and it seems like her chest is quaking.

"Listen," he starts, "don’t worry ‘bout Matt. I’ll take care of him."

"Good. You’re good."

He laughs in one quick exhale.

"Yeah. Me. Good."

"See you."

"Bye."

 

She presses the phone to her, and takes a few breaths before walking back out. Her mother and grandmother are in the hallway, Lorelai halfway into her jacket.

"Oh, great," she says when spotting Rory, "we're leaving now."

"I'll be right out."

Lorelai nods and exits the house. Rory stuffs her arms into her own jacket, buttons up and faces Emily. Her grandmother looks tired more than anything else, she thinks. She knows she can't help the situation between her and her mother, so she goes for something else.

"I love you, grandma."

Emily's chin drops slightly. Rory leans in and hugs her.

"I'll see you soon, okay?"


	7. Seasons (2)

__

 

_Old friends have said, the books I've read say it's the thing to do / But it's hard to see it when you're in it, 'cause I went blind for you._

**Caught, Florence + The Machine**

 

**February 2016**

 

"Okay, I'm off. So, I'll see you Saturday at what time?" He puts on his jacket, dragging his duffle bag by the foot through the hallway. She's at the kitchen table with her lap top.

"My bus arrives at three pm sharp."

"Great, I'll meet you at the station."

She frowns at the screen, and he sighs.

"Write something else," he says for the umpteenth time.

She looks up at him.

"Why something else? Why can't it ever be 'stop writing'?"

"You can't stop writing. You stop writing you stop. Write something else. Something fun."

"Can't. Getting paid to write this."

"You're gonna start hating it if you keep this up." He tries. She continues punching the keys, then pauses, squints and starts hitting the backspace repeatedly. "Okay, that’s it." He pulls out his wallet and gets out a twenty-dollar bill. Slaps it down next to her laptop.

"Sleeping beauty and Prince Philip are getting a divorce. Write their first counseling session. 1500 words, by Saturday. It’s a commission. I’m a paying customer. You up for it, miss Gilmore?"

She stares at her screen, but smiles, eyes turning warm. She reaches out and grasps the bill, folding it into her bra, still without looking at him. He takes a breath, he has no time for this game, but leans over her, sticking his hand down her shirt dragging it over her breast.

"Deal?" He asks.

"Sexual harassment in the workplace," she mumbles and turns her face to his. "But okay, mister."

He kisses her, tries to put the moment's entire implication into a swift one, but she grabs the collar of his jacket, holding him in place while she deepens the kiss. He mumbles some incoherent profanity, then frees himself to make eye contact with her.

"Saturday." He says.

She smiles at him, no doubt about the ambiguity of the word under the circumstances.

"See ya," she says.

"Bye." He pulls up his bag on his shoulder and heads down to his car.

 

Come Saturday, he, Matt and Chris have done away with their work at an independent publisher's expo. He's waiting at the bus station while the guys are packing up their stuff at the exhibition hall. Her bus is late though. He takes his last sip of coffee and paces the arrival gates. When the bus finally drives up, his heartbeat actually accelerates and he shakes his head at himself, then lifts it to look for her. He spots her pretty quickly and she sees him. Smiles and waves.

The last time he saw her like this doesn't seem so long ago even though it really was. Him only daring to ask her why she'd come when he was sure she was leaving. Silly Jess. Not that his feelings have changed much. But fear is apparently something you can get used to living with, and he has a plan for handling it these days; The general idea is, don't think about it too much. Just do it. Know that everything is at stake but pretend it isn't. Don't look down.

Now she's getting off the bus, and he doesn't have to ask why she came. He bites the inside of his cheek to resist smiling like an idiot. He doesn't have to, but habits die hard. He walks up to the door to meet her. When their eyes lock he wonders if she's thinking the same thing, then allows himself to believe that she does. She walks down the stairs and leaps from the last one into his arms. He keeps her off the ground for a few seconds, then puts her down and kisses her, feeling it echo back through time. Then, now, always.

 

They've stayed with colleagues for two nights, but him and Rory are sleeping at Paris' and Doyle's for the coming night. Paris' now really. Doyle got a place in California and Paris brought the kids there to visit for the week. Rory has expressed a certain level of sadness at their separation. He himself is taking it with a grain of salt. There are breakup's that are permanent and those that aren't. It seems to depend more on the people in the relationships rather than some abstract construct of degree of love. Some people can't be alone, some can't be with anyone, and others can only be with one specific person, and he's fairly certain Paris and Doyle are the last kind.

They go to Paris' house to drop off their stuff and head out on foot. He really wants to stay inside for a while before meeting the guys again, but them already being late, and her eagerness to go out, gets them out the door; The basis of their model for social interaction as a couple. He smiles to himself. They make their way to lower Manhattan before crossing the bridge to Brooklyn. When they spot Matt and Chris the former has his hands up while the latter bounces with every step like an exited puppy.

"Disclaimer; Don't trust him on anything," Matt starts as soon as they're at speaking distance, pointing to Chris, "he's had the entirety of my flask."

"You've been drinking on the job, Chris?" Rory tilts her head at him and smiles.

"If my job is being a common book-mule, then yes." Chris says, chin out, turning to Matt and Jess. "I don't understand you guys being all outraged, you used to be just as bad."

They start walking in the same direction, and Chris slips to Rory's side, putting an arm around her shoulders.

"Where are we going?" She asks him.

"This place called Pinwheels. It's not really impressive on the outside but they have the best music. Tons of stuff past and present, mixed with like, Joan Jett."

"I don't mean to be negative, but couldn't we just have stayed in Philadelphia for that?"

"I said mixed music, not just Joan Jett."

 

They've been there a number of times, and Chris is correct in his assessment of the place; It’s still a dump judging from the exterior. On the inside, it's a murky beer hall with pool tables in a corner and the walls tapered with band posters. The number of people would fill up any normal-sized place but here they almost seem scattered, and there are still several empty tables. At the furthest wall is a long bar stretching from one edge to the other. It's staffed with only two people, slowly making their way between costumers, swaying and bobbing along to the music. Over it, a big, rectangular, red light sign flashes the name of the tracks playing, by rolling them across its surface, after which the lights form decorative, flickering patterns before displaying the static name of the record. Rory squints at the screen.

"'Weird Scandinavian Shit'?"

"Yeah," Chris says, "the siblings who own this place, they were pretty deep into the music scene about ten years ago, in several bands, and used to have an open mic night here. People started burning them CD's, trying to top each other in obscurity. Hence the best music. Or at the worst of times: at least the most interesting."

They get beers at the bar and order food from the very classic pub menu, find a booth and slide in. Chris starts it up immediately.

"So, Rory! Have I told you how happy I am that you're here? Not just here in New York, but, in our lives, like, in general? We were starting to worry about our boy here."

Jess sighs audibly. Not this again.

"Christian," He sing-songs at Chris with a pretty dangerous under-tone.

"What? It's not reasonable living like-"

"Oh! And you hounding your way through entire demographics is?"

Chris puts his hands up in a defensive gesture.

"Hey, I'm a serial monogamist!"

"Monogamic, my ass!"

"Okay, I do not appreciate the turn of this conversation." Chris goes, slightly wavering voice.

"You're the one who brought it up, man. Don't go there if you don't like my turns." He glares at Chris. "Mutually assured destruction."

Rory smiles and turns to Matt.

"I bet you're extra glad to be married right about now."

Matt huffs out a short laugh.

"You have no idea."

 

•••

 

Their food arrives shortly after and seems to even Chris' mood out a bit. Rory's getting comfortable when Matt turns his head towards the entrance and howls;

"Night and day!"

Chris twitches at the sound, shoots Jess a quick glance with raised eyebrows.

"Day and night!" He follows up with a tad more hesitantly. Two women approach their table. One of them, with a bleached undercut walk up and slaps the back of Matt's head.

"Don't make me sorry I know you!"

Jess reaches over to Matt and follows the slap with one of his own.

"You should have told me." He says.

The other woman, short and dark, smiles slightly and waves to greet the table. While Matt swears and rubs his head the first woman leans over the table and reaches for Rory's hand.

"Hi," She says, bright smile on her face. "I'm Day. This is Night." She gestures at the second woman who holds up her hand in a more aimed greeting. Rory is dumbfounded by the names, and gets stuck in her own introduction. Day laughs knowingly. "It's Daisy, really. Turned in to a nickname pretty quickly, and my sister's name is Gail, so..."

"Nightingale." Rory finishes with a smile.

"It's a wonder we never joined the circus," is the first thing Night says with a self-deprecating smile.

"Speak for yourself." Day says, then turns back to Rory. "Sorry, it's a running gag, obviously."

Jess elbows Rory's arm.

"Don't worry, Lorelai here has a history of her own with weird names."

Her lower lip drops when he uses her real name, it never happens and feels surprisingly exposing, within a beat she fires back.

"You're right about that, Tess."

He smiles and Matt high fives her. Day sits down next to Chris, while Night goes to buy drinks.

"Lorelai," Day says "that's so pretty."

"It's Rory, really." She pauses briefly while something clicks in her head. "Wait," she says. "Daisy and Gail? You wrote an autobiography together?"

"A blog really," Day says.

Rory's cold from the memory. The Carling-sisters. She's read their book, Truncheon put it out, so it's one of many she's plowed through the last few months. But theirs isn't just any book. Their father is in jail for the murder of their mother, they got separated by the foster care system until they were reunited by a social worker who went the extra mile. She looks back at Day who's regarding her with a sympathetic smile on her face.

"I gather you read it." She says.

Rory gulps.

"Yes."

"Don't worry, it has that effect on most people."

"I'm sorry," Rory musters. "I don't know what to say."

"Well, I do," Day starts "It's a sad story and it's true, but you don't let that stop you. The blog was really a way to process together, and then Truncheon, well, Jess really, found it and the printing house put out the book and now we get to help others."

Rory shoots Jess a look which he returns straightly, then she looks back to Day.

"Help others?"

"Well, we're not really writers, like you guys, we just had the one story to tell, we're more like glorified social workers; We do lectures, host a column for troubled kids in local school papers, that kind of stuff."

Rory is genuinely taken by this.

"That's amazing."

"Well, I told you I know what to say. Like constantly."

"Ad Nauseam." Night adds while putting a beer in front of her sister and sitting down next to Matt. “I assume you’re a writer too?” She asks Rory.

“Yes,” she answers, somewhat reluctant to get stuck in the spotlight. “No books though.”

“Or blogs.” Matt fills in.

“A journalist?” Day asks.

“Guilty as charged,” Rory says, trying, but failing to stifle the somewhat bitter follow-up; “Whatever that title means these days.”

Day laughs, and Night smiles in silent recognition. Matt and Chris, probably already instructed by Jess to not touch the subject with a stick, quickly pick a new topic of conversation. The music gets increasingly strange, bouncing between Finnish metal and synth pop as well as some kind of klezmer in actual Danish... or if it's Swedish? Rory can't tell the difference, but then a Sigur Ros-song comes on and she sighs with relief.

"What?" Matt smiles at her. "The weird shit not agreeing with you?"

"Everything in moderation." She responds.

"But technically this shouldn't be on here, right?" Asks Day. "Iceland isn't part of Scandinavia, is it?"

"Oh my god!" Chris exclaims. "Who cares?"

"Excuse me for trying to educate myself."

"It depends on who you're asking." Rory answers.

"Well, if you ask me there's not enough female artists on this CD." Day says firmly.

"Here we go." Night smiles.

"It's important! I know several bands that could have been included! Crucified Barbara, Westkust, Disco Error, The freaking Knife-"

The band names remind Rory of the track list of one of the burnt CD's in Jess' car.

"Hey! Was that you? That CD with The Joy Formidable? Days of Gaze?"

Day smiles broadly at her.

"That was me!"

"Oh my god, I love that CD, I play it every time we're going somewhere."

"Well, he was driving me crazy with all his angry boy-bands."

"Hey!" Jess tries, but Day talks right over him.

"No fun allowed, you know? So, I figured I'd show him the light."

Rory laughs loudly at the thought of anyone trying to teach Jess about music, especially someone with Day's overbearing qualities. She would have payed to see it.

"Well," Night says to Rory "I think that means you're okay in Day's book."

"Yeah," Day fills in. "You can stay."

 

Chris orders another round of drinks. He and Night set a considerable pace despite him already being under the influence and her being petite. The others try to keep up. Day is probably better off as she runs her mouth constantly, leaving her behind the rest. She and Matt put on a show for Rory intended to let her in on the canon of their friendship, which of course includes drunken shenanigans and adventures at past expos. Rory's grateful for it. It's the kind of spectacle that benefits both the new arrival in a group as well as its present members. She leans back and revels in the stories, fiddling with Jess' hand under the table, enjoying the buzzing warmth of their touch and the alcohol. After yet another round, two for Chris and Night, the conversation turns to an old colleague who made it to the best seller list. Night purrs her admiration for the book in question, Matt sighs audibly.

"You're seriously referring to that hack as a writer? It's practically decades since he wrote anything with a shred of artistic integrity." Chris interrupts.

"Booh. You are a snob and a half." Says Night.

“To be fair, few of us are privileged with a chance to betray our ideals.” Jess mumbles with a small smile, and Night snorts.

"And you're just jealous." Day fills in, pointing at Chris. "Getting payed for your work does not mean you lose credibility."

Jess twist towards Rory.

"Speaking of which, where’s the piece I ordered, miss Gilmore?"

She rolls her eyes and pulls out her phone. In the nick of time too. Night gets up rather abruptly at that moment turning over her glass of beer, luckily just a few fingers left, but it still runs over the table, a second after Rory gets her purse. Night walks off, and Matt and Chris fall over each other trying to find washcloths and paper. Day and Rory just laugh and pull their stuff out of the way. Rory opens her cloud app, the piece, and hands Jess the device. He reads it. She watches him, while chatting with Day. His eyes dance over the screen quickly and his facial expressions tagging along as he processes the words. After a couple of minutes, he hands it back.

"Rory Gilmore – the reinventor of the very modern princess story."

She’s warmed by his compliment, as well as the reference to their conversation at the lake. Day gets up and walks over to the bar and Night. Rory takes the opportunity to inch closer to him. She slings her legs over the one of his closest to her, putting her arms around his shoulders, and their faces close together.

"Hey," he says.

She shushes him and puts her mouth to his. Making out in public definitely has its moments, although she's been bad at it for a long time, too nervous. But in a place like this, murky and loud, both of them a little drunk, it's different. Safe and exposing at the same time. After a while she has to pace herself, grateful nobody sees what's going on under the table. She pulls back slightly, opens her eyes and looks at his; dark, happy, and his chest rise and fall in decreasing rate.

"So, was it fun?" He asks.

"What?"

"Writing."

She thinks about it. And a slow smile spreads over her face.

"Yeah."

The words are there again, immediate and compelling, she opens her mouth, and Matt and Chris come back, the latter dabbing his shirt with a paper towel.

"Thanks for helping," he snarks at Jess.

"I was busy."

While they're bickering she looks for Night and Day but only sees the former at the bar.

She slides out of the booth and walks up to Night and smiles at her as a greeting. Night doesn't return the smile but lifts her face to regard her more actively, her eyes shiny and slightly dimmed from the alcohol.

"Where'd Day go?" Rory asks.

Night nods in the direction of the bathroom, but keeps her eyes on Rory.

"Gilmore," she says. "Lorelai. You're Rory."

"Yeah." The wheels in her head slowly start turning.

"You and Jess dated before, right?"

"In our teens. How'd you know?"

"He told me about you."

A growing suspicion makes her nervous.

"Good things I hope?" She manages awkwardly.

“Only when he was drunk."

Rory's silent, doesn't really need to ask any further to know what this is about. Night goes on.

"I just figured... that he and I were the same."

Rory resists the urge to throw her arms around herself. Night weighs to her other foot, looks at the floor.

"I don't know if it's obvious or not, but I'm sort of permanently damaged." Her voice is thick. "It's like I'm missing pieces others have, and it always made me feel inadequate, but then-"

Night interrupts herself. Looks up at Rory again, slightly apologetic, smiles crookedly, joylessly.

"Sorry." Her voice is filled with contempt. "Pathetic right?"

Rory's been told she's good at this. She seems sympathetic, invites confessions, she just has one of those faces. She never feels like that though, insides always squirming at the forced intimacy. She tries now however, does her utmost to control her expression so she doesn't distract Night, not because she wants to know, more like she needs to. But it's a tightrope, and she can't speak, doesn't trust her voice.

"I couldn't make it work with him either." Night continues bitterly. "But none of us have dated after that, so I figured, that at least I wasn't the only one, and then you show up-"

Day appears from behind Night and puts a hand on her shoulder.

“So, it seems he's never been what I thought he was.” Night continues. ”He was just someone else's the entire time.”

Day shakes her softly, slowly.

"See? This is what happens when you insist on a liquid dinner. Time to get you home."

Night swallows, looks past them both, absent-mindedly.

"And now I'm just... the last of my kind." She mumbles.

"Silly kitten." Day says tenderly, putting her arm around her sister's shoulders. "Bye boys!" She shouts across the room and waves at them, then lower, at Rory. "Bye Rory. It was nice meeting you."

The girls walk towards the exit, somewhat floppily. Day with her arm around Night. Rory remains standing by the bar, suddenly in no mood for anything more to drink. Part of her wants to go after Night and tell her not pigeon-hole herself like that, that she doesn't really know what kind Jess is either, that things change. But another part is seriously starting to doubt the accuracy of those statements, and yet another is still spinning from the implications of their one-sided conversation. A few minutes later the guys come up to the bar.

“Apparently we’re leaving for better things.” Jess says, hinting at Matt and Chris.

“Actually,” she starts, “I think I’m sort of done… Unless you wanna go?”

He looks at her with raised eyebrows.

“What? No. You don’t have to ask me twice. Let’s call it a night.”

 

They take a cab to Washington Square Park, she asks the driver to turn up the music. They get coffee, and start walking towards Paris' place. She walks in silence, drinking her coffee to keep her mouth busy. She's torn between wanting, no, once again, needing, to speak but not knowing what to say. She's glad they're busy walking or he would have been onto her in seconds. They're about a block away from Paris' when she decides to do what he would have done and face the subject head on, sort of. She slows her pace.

"You and Night dated?"

"Years ago." He confirms. Looks at her with a frown. "I would have told you, but I didn't know she and Day were coming, and she and I don't usually reminisce about the bad old days. I sincerely hope you're not jealous?"

She processes his response. It doesn't feel like jealousy, at least no kind she's ever felt before, more like something chafing. Something she needs to research, something more about him rather than the girl he used to see.

"No." She says.

"Good," He says, then he does something sort of rare for him; he expands without being asked to. "It seemed like a good idea at the time. We were compatible, in theory at least. Instead, we just tore into each other."

"For how long?"

"We tried for a year and a half, give or take, before walking away."

She does the math. Adds Night's reaction to the equation.

"But you didn't stop sleeping together."

He stops, and faces her.

"No."

"And if we hadn't gotten together you would have kept on doing that." She continues, eyes to the ground.

He reaches out and grabs her hand to turn her towards him.

"I don't know, Rory. Maybe. She knows me. I know her, we didn't have to pretend to be okay together."

She's extremely affected by this. Overwhelmed by it. His words feel like a slap in the face. And it's obviously obvious, it's evident in his voice the next time he speaks.

"What does it matter now anyway?"

"I don't know." She says, chewing on her lower lip.

"Look," he starts, clearly pacing himself, actively keeping his voice calm, "what do you want me to say? That I don't have baggage? All I ever do is carry shit around."

Next thing she knows stupid tears are running down her cheeks.

"Are you saying you're just pretending to be okay with me?"

He's visibly upset by now, grasps her hand with his both, leaning in for contact.

"I'm not pretending to be anything."

She looks into his eyes, and finds the slightest hesitance, like he's not done. She furrows her brow.

"But there are things you don't want from me. Trust me."

She laughs, more bitterly than she intends to, on an exhale. Trust. The paradox. The true kind is there without knowing, but they say it's earned. She speaks.

“There are things I didn’t wanted you to know about me either, but the way we got together just blew that away. It'd be fair to level the plain a bit. Let me choose what I want from you.”

"That's not how it works, and you know that. Once you know something..." He shakes his head. "It’s ancient history."

"And that makes it irrelevant? History’s never been back to bite you on the ass? Night let on-“

“Night and I fell through because we were two broken people who weren’t done being broken. It has nothing to do with you and me. I didn't think I'd ever-" He interrupts himself. "It was bad, and I’m not letting that anywhere near us.”

“But your past is part of you, it's not some separate thing. You can’t amputate it.”

He turns away from her, placing his hands over his mouth, regrouping, then turns back.

"Here's the truth; I am more than okay with you. But there's part of me that'll never be okay.” He closes his mouth and takes a quick breath, starts speaking a bit louder, as if forcing it, looking away as the words tumble from his mouth. “And because of that I'm scared, almost all the time. It was easier before. I didn't care. I could just up and leave. Live for weeks in my head, nobody's loss.” He makes eye contact. “But now you. So, I'm trying, and doing a pretty good job, I think, at holding myself together, at keeping that part in check. Doesn't mean I'm pretending to be something I'm not.”

His face is softer in what looks like relief. He reaches out and strokes her cheek, lets his hand slip underneath her hair and rest at the back of her neck. “And you gotta know that you can’t fix me. I might be able to at one point, not you. But being with you, it's a pretty good motivator."

She intensely dislikes the darkness of this entire matter. The helplessness. Her insides twist in anguish thinking about it. But there’s something else, the thing that keeps her in place. The warped loyalty of all those years, and the possessiveness she feels. He’s hers. He might always have been. That's why she's been scared. Why they've been so stupid. Ran from each other. He's lived with that, she realizes, and she's denied it. But now she can't anymore, and god, it's all coming back to her. It shouldn’t feel good. Her entire life has taught her otherwise, her father, Logan. You're not supposed to trust anyone, not really. Whenever she's felt it she's hidden from it, she's averted her eyes from their places, kept busy on his birthday, spoken louder about their books, their stuff, to deafen his voice in her head. Belonging with someone, it has never been on the table. Except now she does.

He carries stuff around, all those bags, the books, all the personal stuff with his mother, so Luke won't have to. And, his love for her. Did for years, apparently. If he functioned like a normal human being, they wouldn't be here, he would have moved on by now, she would have called Logan back and none of this would have happened.

"I always had someone to pour that stuff into. Always. I wouldn't think of you." She sounds desperate, even to herself. "Or I did, but I pushed it away."

It's a miracle he gets what she's on about, but as usual, he does.

"I know."

"You didn’t."

"I couldn’t." It almost sounds like an apology.

"Jess, I love you." She blurts, a light tone in her voice from the sheer relief of saying it.

He looks at her disbelieving, his hands dropping to his sides, the cold February night visible in the street light as exhale from his mouth, seconds passing before he responds.

"Now you tell me? After a messy inventory of how fucked-up I am?"

Tenderness, he seems much younger. She steps up to him and takes his hand.

"Isn't that the perfect time?"

He has this way of smiling, she’s named it his real smile, it starts in his eyes instead of ending there. It's kind of rare but he smiles like that now, eyes slightly shiny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art at the top by the fabulous fayevalcntine. More of her edits and brilliance can be found on tumblr.  
> Halfway there! Starting tomorrow updates may shift a little since I'm going back to work, previous promises re: this still apply though.  
> Also, a Thank You to captainswanfan of tumblr for indulging me with knowledge of artists native to Philly (or technically Wynnewood). <3


	8. Quarters (3)

_And the dark was opening wide, do or die / Under a mask of a million ruling eyes._

**Familiar, Agnes Obel**

 

**March 2016**

 

The last time he was here he waited in the shadows, like he had something to hide, whispered words that didn’t need secrecy. And the time before that he looked like… he knows what it looked like, what it would’ve looked like even without the shiner. There was a strange kind of relief in being marked actually, like he had nothing to lose, even when he walked in the intimidating door. That turned out to be untrue, if course, there's always something to lose. But it’s not about that. It's the place, everything it stands for, everything it is, and him; he’s the wrong puzzle piece, a piece from a whole different puzzle, or better yet, a whole different pass-time. Probably cards, he’s always liked cards.

But it can’t be helped. It’s been in his calendar since new year’s, it’s a necessity, a rite of passage, and it certainly beats the alternative… he's thinking that a lot lately. As for Emily; his memory of her is in no way as intimidating as the house, but the way Rory acts, the way she and Lorelai talk about her, is.

He weighs awkwardly from one foot to the other in the hallway, unsure how to handle Emily's chatty housekeeper, maid? Geez. Rory is driving here herself as she's staying in Hartford for the night, doing some alumnum- alumnae- dammit- alumnical thing at her old High School tomorrow, and she's running late. Nightmare. Lorelai pushes to his side. Nudges against him with her shoulder. Grabs the coat hanging over his arm and hands it to the relentlessly smiling woman.

"How're you doing, Jess?"

"Okay. A bit nervous. My last run in with Emily Gilmore wasn't exactly a hit."

"An honest man." She acknowledges. "I'll let you in on a little secret; no one's last meeting with Emily was a hit."

Emily enters the hallway and smiles, rather coldly, at them both.

"Lorelai. Mr. Mariano."

"Mrs. Gilmore, thanks for having me."

"Mom." Lorelai says.

"Rory called, says she's going to be late, to get started without her."

Shit.

"Alright." Lorelai responds, smiling. He sneaks glances at her as they walk into the living-room. That smiling thing is a neat trick, if he hadn't been on the receiving end of it so many times he might not even had noticed how it's just a bit too firm, hung from her ears, like a pair of glasses. But she makes it look relaxed, natural, and he's jealous. The best he's managed, even through the years of actually representing Truncheon at different functions, is to not look right out hostile.

"Wine, Lorelai?"

"Please."

"What'll you have, Mr. Mariano?"

"It's Jess, and club soda, thank you."

"I can get you a beer, if you prefer."

"No, it's just; I haven't decided how far I'm gonna drive tonight. It's possible I'll drive back to Philadelphia, and it's better if I don't drink if that's the case."

"Drive to Philadelphia? You'll be on the road all night!"

"I like driving."

She raises her eyebrows at him.

"I heard you had quite the troublesome history with cars, an accident years ago.”

"That's true. More than one actually.” He admits and swallows the sting in his chest. ”I think that's why I like driving to be honest. Something about taking back control."

It feels like a slightly risky path to take, honesty, as far as it’s possible, and he has to remind himself that this is supposed to be a foundation of something, not a temporary obstacle.

"So, what is it that makes up your mind in the end, whether to drive or not?" Emily asks. He smiles, relieved. Good question.

"Different things. How much energy I have, how much of it needs letting. A certain feeling." He naturally leaves out that he's inclined to stay up on nights he doesn't share with Rory. He's gotten bad at sleeping alone. If he's unlucky he has nightmares, they're fairly regular and the bad ones wakes him up on the verge of crying. He doesn't of course. No use. But if he's alone it can take him hours to get back to sleep. If she's there she’ll sling her body across his tying him back down to sleep, or they’ll have sex. Either way it helps.

"No way for you to know in advance?" Emily asks.

"Usually not."

"That's unpractical." She sighs. "I don't suppose you know how to make a Gimlet?"

"Only in theory."

Emily cocks her head to the side and regards him for a beat.

"My late husband could make one I liked. I could never repeat it myself so I'm constantly looking for someone who can get it right."

"I'm happy to give it a try."

She shrugs.

"Go ahead, how bad can it be?"

"My thoughts exactly." He stands up and makes his way to the drink-cart. "Do you want the vodka- or gin-kind?"

"Gin."

The drink is easy enough to make, they kept a cheat sheet laying around Truncheon for years for entertaining writers and customers, and he does remember everything he reads, so he wasn't kidding about "in theory"-part, but he picks sort of a rough whiskey glass for serving it which makes her prim her lips when he hands it to her. She pours him his club soda and Lorelai her wine, hands them their glasses and takes a seat in the couch opposing them. Takes a sip. She has a better poker face than he has, and that's saying something. He doesn't ask though.

"So, we've met before." She says to him, with a clear edge to her voice.

"Yes. Uhm, sorry for leaving so abruptly."

"Oh, that's alright." She smiles, that same chilly kind from the hallway. "I just hope that's a habit you've since given up."

"It is."

"Good. Because that's no way to conduct a relationship. Leaving, when things get a little tough."

"Mom." Comes lowly from Lorelai.

"No, it's not." He resists pushing out his chin. "Took me a while to learn though."

"Not everyone can be fast learners. As long as you get there I suppose it's alright though..." Her tone is velvety, and although he's something of an expert on hostility, this kind is not his forte. "It seems it'd be hard, building trust on such behavior, in any context. Tell me; did you attend college?"

"Mother." This time Lorelai's tone is more melodic, containing a warning. He decides to play it safe, diffusing any rising conflict.

"No. I didn't even finish High School." Lorelai glances at him. "I got my GED later, and took a couple of distance courses in business. The bare necessity for my work."

"Really?" Emily seems to consider this. "So, you and my granddaughter seems an unlikely match then, as she usually goes above and beyond-"

He smiles at this observation. It's meant as a jab, he's not an idiot, but she's not technically wrong. On the surface he and Rory have never been an obvious fit.

"So how about therapy last Tuesday, huh mom?" Lorelai interrupts. He and Emily turn to stare at her. "That Claudia." Lorelai feigns a chuckle and shakes her head.

"Lorelai!" Emily says sharply. "We have company."

"Really? 'Cause I thought we had a prisoner what with the third degree and torture."

"I hardly think-"

"Lorelai, I don't mind-" He starts. She turns to him.

"You don't mind because you were expecting the Gulag. Which is admirable, semper paratus and all that, but just not something you should have to expect from a dinner-party. And what goes for you should go for us, right?" She turns back to her mother.

"Lorelai. You heard the man. He doesn't mind a few hard questions. I'd expect he's eager to prove his worth. But that makes no difference to you, does it? Talking over everyone, especially the men in your life is what you do after all."

"I know how it looks." He says, a bit loud, to derail this ancient fight of theirs. "But few things look the way they really are."

Lorelai's head turns to him, genuine little smirk on her lips. And Emily's chin drops slightly, and then she seems to drop the entire thing, looks a bit tired he thinks.

The housekeeper enters and announces dinner with lively gestures. Lorelai's on her feet instantly, pulling Jess along. Shows him a seat on the long side of the dinner table, she herself sits opposite him and Emily takes the seat at the short end.

The first course is toast on green salad with some sort of yellow sauce, and what looks like corn flakes, but might be mushrooms on top. He realizes there'll be no way of knowing until he tries it and is about to pick up his silver-ware when the doorbell chimes. Moments later Rory appears, shooting wide-eyed glances at both her mother and him.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry! I got held up at the DMV."

"As you do." Lorelai says.

Rory squeezes her shoulder while passing her, kisses her grandmother's cheek, then moves over to him, mouthing "sorry" again as she approaches. He stands up, smiles tightly in response and she leans in to peck him on the lips, before sitting down next to him.

 

After that the mood lightens significantly. He listens to her chatting with her grandmother and mother with ease, creating a bridge between the two older women that all three of them seem to be comfortable with. He smiles at this, her super-power. They've started on the main course - some kind of ground beef quenelles – before he has to endure the spotlight again.

"The girls tell me you're in publishing?"

"That's right."

"And was that what you aimed for?"

"I didn't really have an aim, I got into it by writing."

Emily seems genuinely appalled by this for a second before covering it up. Sort of.

"An artist? Goodness. Well, I'm glad that's not all you do."

"Grandma." Rory warns, in a comically similar tone to her mother's earlier.

"No, it's okay." He says, taking her hand under the table. "Just writing wouldn't have worked for me, too many ups and downs. I need routines to adhere to, if I wanna function like I should. Having a regular job helps me do that."

Emily smiles at him, still small, but definitely more appreciative. And after that their interactions seem to shift from hearing to an interview exploring a possible allyship. She pokes and prods him through the topics, and he works to express the most conservative versions of his opinions, not lying, but not telling the whole truth either. It's apparently the most favored strategy for this kind of situation, but it’s still a tad embarrassing listening to himself, and not optimal doing this next to Rory either, who knows his genuine, uncensored takes on stuff. He can see her smirk in the corner of his eyes when his words come out too generic.

Dessert is a fromage of sorts, good, but with a taste he can't place. The topic turns to their apartment and Rory, who’s carrying the conversation, talks about all the boxes of books they keep in storage and about making space for them.

"Well, I did some decluttering a while back-" Emily starts, and Lorelai interrupts, amused.

"Oh my god, yes! You should have seen her, sorting out some of her best stuff!"

Emily stares at her without a trace of a smile on her face.

"Not just my things. Things from the entire house."

Lorelai's eyes widen.

"My stuff?"

"Well, I cleared things from all rooms, so probably some of yours. Your old things, might I add, you haven't lived here since you were a teenager in case I need to remind you." Emily turns back to Jess and Rory. "Anyway, I had too much, and very little seemed to make me happy. But I might have gotten a little carried away. Luckily Lorelai stopped me in time, of course by then I'd already gotten rid of quite a few items."

"My stuff?" Lorelai goes desperately.

"Not all your stuff, Lorelai, just some of it. It was all according to the advice of this crazy writer." She squints at Jess. "You don't write self-help-books, do you?"

Rory slaps a hand over her mouth and Jess struggles to stay serious.

"No, I do not."

"Good."

"On the other hand," he goes on, "the only thing I hoard is books, other than that fewer things is the way to go, if you ask me." There's a sharp shove against the small of his leg. Lorelai is kicking him. He stares at her, mouth twitching, and she glares back. Then she turns her attention back to Emily.

"You sorted out my stuff?"

"I said some of your things." Emily rolls her eyes. "I swear it's like I'm not speaking English."

Lorelai gets up and walks towards the stairs, Emily follows, and Jess seizes the moment.

"That's my cue."

Emily stops at the base of the staircase, and turns toward him.

"It was nice to meet you, Jess. And the Gimlet was no worse than mine."

He smiles. Counts it as a win.

"But I think I'll make my own from now on." She finishes.

"Sounds like a solid plan."

Emily returns the smile.

"Rory, will you see your friend out?"

"Yes, grandma."

She grabs his hand while they walk into the hallway, and picks his coat from the hall-stand.

"Thanks for doing this."

"Don't thank me, it's a given." He responds as he's putting it on. She frowns.

"You won't even see your own mother if you can help it."

"Well, you like your grandmother."

She gives him a look, and purses those lips of hers.

"Fine." He sighs. "Don't compare our families."

She opens her mouth to speak, but he leans in and kisses her. There’s a little grunt of protest before she returns the kiss heatedly. She throws her arms around his shoulders and grabs his collar, popping it as she pulls back. He smiles at her.

“You were saying something.”

She smiles back, a tad goofily.

“See you back home, Jess.”

“Goodbye, Rory.”

With that he walks out to his car. He turns and looks at the house before getting in. Nope, the instinct to toss pebbles at the window before ringing the doorbell is still there.

 

•••

 

She watches him drive off, and then heads upstairs to steer off any possible catastrophe. To her surprise it's silent. She walks to her mother's old room. Her old room. She shudders at the thought of that time in her life. Of course, one of the last times she was there before moving out, Jess was there with her, and that makes her smile as she enters the room. Lorelai is on the bed, and looks up, teasing smile spreading on her face.

“'Oh mama! My boyfriend’s so dreamy!'” She squeaks in some unjust bimbo-parody. Rory rolls her eyes.

“Okay, you're mixing genres; historical romance or fifties pastiche, pick one, you can't have it both ways. And have I ever said anything like that?”

“It’s all in the very telling silence.”

Rory shakes her head and looks around.

"Where's grandma?"

"She couldn’t remember if she'd given away my old bureau or not, so she went to check the attic. Can you believe it?"

"It's this house. It can really close in on a person." Rory sits down next to her.

"Don't we all know it..." Lorelai turns to look at her, reaches to stroke a strand of hair behind her ear. "Are you happy, kid?"

"Isn't it totally weird that you have to ask me?" She says. "But yeah. I'm writing some stuff just for me lately and that's nice. And did I mention that cutting down on traveling a bit is kind of great?" Her heartbeat increases as she has to talk about it, residue from their fight in September. "And personally, yes I am. Kind of surprised that it doesn't feel like that big a deal. I mean when I think of it, it seems... epic, but it feels, obvious, like-"

"Like it was meant to be."

Rory exhales with a smile.

"Yeah, exactly." She hesitates, the words vibrate in her throat and she's been afraid, and at the same time longed to share it with Lorelai. "You know he's loved me for years? Since we were kids? I never thought I was the type to inspire that kind of devotion."

Lorelai drops her chin, incredulous expression on her face, then she smiles.

"Of course you're that type. With those eyes! And that sweet disposition! Not to mention that you come from a long line of sirens. And I'm pretty sure my great-great grandmother was an actual Disney-princess." Lorelai pauses, then looks straight at her. "Or maybe it's equally dependent on what type he is. And what kind of love it is. I hear the real kind is supposed to last forever."

"Like you and Luke."

The shade drawing over her mother's expressive face isn't lost on her, and it feels like a chill.

"Actually, me and Luke have had some trouble lately."

"What? Why? How?"

"After dad died."

Rory sighs and squeezes her eyes shut. Of course.

"When me and mom argued... She said that I robbed Luke of his dreams. That I hadn't even asked him what he wanted, but just gone on like I always do. And she was right. I didn't ask. Figured we knew each other without having to, but here's the deal: Sometimes I forget that that I have to say things out loud to people I love." Lorelai takes her hand. "You too, you know? We were synced for so long-"

"I know." Rory swallows to rid herself of the ache in her throat.

"And then we weren't anymore. So stupid, when we needed each other the most too."

"I know."

"And it happened before, and back then I promised myself that I wouldn't-" Lorelai's breath almost sounds like a sob. "That we wouldn't be so careless again, and then, just look at us go."

"It's okay, mom. It happens."

"For what it's worth: I am happy for you, kid. That you get to feel that way. And I am grateful that Jess is part of helping you with that. I've been in a bad way, still sort of am, but I'm through blaming that on him, have been for a while. And I'm sorry you had to wait for me to say that."

"Mom-"

"It's time I found a new scapegoat, or possibly give up on the practice all together."

"Mom. What about Luke?"

"I was this close to consider a surrogate parent to have another kid-"

"Mom!" Her voice is slightly shrill.

"Luckily Paris talked me off that one before I made too big a fool of myself."

"She never told me."

"Good woman, that Paris, but I don't think she meant to. It was just, her way of approaching it that sort of had me running for the door."

Rory smiles a little.

"But to be honest I'd sort of gotten there on my own before that. I mean, I didn't really ask Luke before I started doing that either so... I think I'm just terrible all around."

"Mom! You told me just a few months ago that listening to your parents was trouble, a guaranteed mess. You taking advise from grandma has the success-rate of taking advise from Kirk; probably not inherently bad, but if you don't have the same prerequisites, which practically no one has, then they're kind of useless. It's like Jay Gatsby planning a kegger, or-"

"Well he was Great, and to be fair, it probably wouldn't have been a terrible kegger-"

"Fine, don't listen to your kids either!"

"Oh my god!” Lorelai squeals. ”Imagine that story in a college comedy version!"

Rory has to laugh, because that honestly sounds hilariously disturbing. Silence falls between them for a few seconds before Lorelai speaks again.

"So, nature's good for clearing your head, huh?” Lorelai goes after a while. Rory chuckles.

"Not sure I really cleared my head by going there, not sure it was the nature. but... it had some nice fall out." She looks at her mother who seems to be considering this seriously.

 

The next morning, she and her grandmother are enjoying the breakfast to the soothing sound of the pages of the paper turning.

"He's much improved." Emily allows at one point.

"I know." Rory smiles back.

 

She gets back to Philadelphia around noon the next day. As she enters the apartment she hears classical music from the living room. She hangs off her coat and walks down the hallway. When she nears the room she also hears the clickety sounds of punched keys. When he edits he can listen to anything, he can have someone yelling over distorted guitars and still be completely engrossed, serene. When he has to formulate longer texts, usually in the form of feedback to authors, feedback, rejection- and acceptance letters, drafts for a few stories, summaries, he usually prefers instrumental, although she's never heard him play classical. She tries her best to sneak, bends her knees and steps on the front pads of her feet, even though she knows he most likely heard her closing the door.

"Nice music." She remarks when walking in the room, that also contains their work stations; her secretaire and his worn, rather ugly desk.

"Glad you like it." His cheek tightens in a smile when she leans over his shoulder and presses a kiss to the side of his face.

"Did Day make another CD for you?" She teases.

"Hey, I can have layers all on my own."

"What are you writing?" She peeks at the screen.

"Mind your own business."

"This is fiction!"

He sticks back a hand and pokes her in the tummy.

"Step away from the screen, and tell me about Chilton."

"Fine, but you have to talk to me about this later!"

"Maybe."

She sighs, annoyed that she's going to have to drag whatever this is out of him. She decides to oblige him however.

"It was fine. Fun to be back, actually. And my talk went well, the students seemed to appreciate it. Paris scared her group and had an existential crisis in the bathroom."

Jess snorts.

"And I had coffee with Headmaster Charleston. He thought I should get my masters. Start teaching. Can you believe it?"

"Sure." He says, still typing. "Why not?"

"Oh, come on!"

He stops writing and spins the chair around, facing her.

"Why is that so weird? You love being a student. Going back to school wouldn't be a problem for you." He turns back to the screen, but continues talking. "Wouldn't be too farfetched either to assume you might make a great teacher."

She's genuinely stunned at his words.

"How are you a supporter of this?"

"I’m a supporter of any suggestion that might shake you out of this clinch you got yourself in, where this is all there is forever and ever amen." He mumbles in a tirade that sounds too fluent not to have been considered before.

"Did I ask you to help me?" She asks, sharper in tone than she intends to be. He sighs, but turns around again. Gets out of the chair and leans on the desk.

"No." He admits. "Not with words anyway." He pauses then looks at her with warm eyes. "But, y'know, I read somewhere that anticipating needs is really useful in a relationship."

She smiles involuntarily.

"Needs, huh?" She walks up to him. "Now, you're just flirting."

"It is the most efficient diversion."

"But you of all people though..."

"We are discussing suitable options for you at the moment, not me. But if you wanna switch, sure; Things I'd rather do than go back to school; a list by Jess Mariano."

"Oh boy."

"I would rather... attend past life-therapy with Liz. I would rather walk into Luke's with a vaporizer, sporting a full beard and a man-bun, and I would rather... be spelunking."

"Holy cow, you don't shut up these days." She kisses him. He tastes like coffee. “Wait. Have you even had breakfast?”

He shrugs. She growls.

“You are beyond impossible! We’re going for food.”

 

The day is pretty. It’s a take away day. But her puzzlement from before turns to light irritation. She can even feel her lower lip gradually moving further out until her face is locked in a pout. They’re making their way down the sidewalk heading for a small park a couple blocks from their apartment. His arm, slung across her shoulder, squeezes her slightly.

“What?”

"For as long as we've been together, I've never seen you write fiction. You're always busy with the publishing house, and today I come home and you're writing something, that I assume you don't have to write. Something for you. And you're acting all secretive about it."

"Rory-"

"No, it's okay. I get why you'd need to keep it to yourself."

He frowns at her

"So...?"

"So, it's not just the writing it's..." She stops and stares at the sky, taps her foot, thinking, before speaking again. "I'm an open book. And you're a closed one. Mostly I feel like I don't even have to tell you stuff 'cause you'll just know 'em anyway, and, you don't need to be genius to know that that's the mother of misunderstandings. Talking is a good thing. About anything."

She looks at him. He has an expression she recognizes; face turned toward the ground, but eyes on her, lips pressed together, waiting until she's done. He would never interrupt her while wearing this expression, she knows that. He'll wait until all cards are on the table. She takes a deep breath. "I'll go first." She swallows, feels momentarily stupid for driving this, but pushes forward anyhow. "Did you know, I really just saw my dad like once a year up until I was, about seven?"

He relaxes somewhat, face softening.

"Then what?"

"Then... it was more random. Sometimes he'd show up twice in six months, sometimes less than once a year."

"And was that better or worse?"

"I don't know. But I know that before that I hadn't really thought about him as my dad. Just this polite stranger who'd show up with gifts occasionally. Then something just clicked, and he was my dad, but I always wanted him around more, so, I guess, worse."

He steps closer to her, putting his arm around her waist and pulling her closer, chewing on his lower lip, eyes dancing over her face, with a hesitant look. Then he takes a breath, and speaks.

"Well, then I was better off. Fathers are like smartphones - if you've never had one there's no apparent use for ‘em."

She winces as her contradictory feelings twist her insides, manages a little chuckle.

"Really? Nothing apparent? You know they can be a weapon or a tool..."

"And neither one is very cool."

This time she actually laughs, and leans against him in half a hug.

"And what about you? Tell me about Jimmy."

"The only thing he ever offered me was a couch for a few weeks. I’ve slept in cars since then... And you'd think that'd put the couch in better light but it really just made him look worse."

He falls quiet and she lets it rest for a few moments.

"Do you think we're doomed?"

He looks at her sharply.

"I mean as parents. If we-" Woah, What the heck is she asking? "Would we be useless?"

His eyes are wary and there's a distinct pause before he speaks.

"Not you. You have your mom. And I... I guess I'd make a great uncle."

She looks at him, suddenly wishing she had thought to watch where their discussion was going. This wasn't what she had in mind, and she isn't sure she's ready to have this particular conversation, to hear his answer. Wants desperately to go back to just pouting, to find a bench sit on with him, to drink her coffee, eat her food. As usual he sees this in her face, or something adjacent, because he tilts his head to the side and speaks again.

“I’d be a hypocrite if I was a fatalist on this, right? If my parents didn't have control over their choices I should probably cut them some slack.”

Her exhale is a sigh of relief.

"You might consider doing that anyway."

"Might. Consider. Some. Don't hold your breath."

"You have a choice.”

"You have your will."


	9. Spring

__

 

_Back to ire / Back to desire / This is where it all begins._

**This Ladder is Ours, The Joy Formidable**

 

**April 2016**

 

The bedroom is flooded in sunlight. The brightness giving color to their eyes as they occasionally blink open and lock. Her voice breaking the so-called silence, really just layers of sounds; skin smoothing against skin and cloth.

"God!"

"What's he got to do with it?"

"She. And just, don't stop." The tone makes her voice sound like it's singing.

"Okay."

"And no talking."

"You're talking."

"Unlike you, I don't have any better use for my mouth at the moment."

"Maybe it's better from talking. Testing, testing. 'Let me stand at your devouring gate, as the sun dies in your arms and you loosen its' terrible weight.'"

"Eek!"

"'I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.'"

"Stop that!"

"I thought I wasn't allowed to stop."

"Holy mother of-"

"I love you."

"Oh, my-" Her sharp exhale is similar to a growl. "You're killing me with your stubble, at some point you have to re-grow that beard. I promise to make it worth your while."

"How?"

"Not telling."

"So, getting mocked over my facial hair by... everyone, weighed against whatever you're gonna give me to make it worth my while."

"Use your imagination."

"It's sort of dirty at the moment."

"Good. In infinite quantities."

"Really?"

"Really. Now shut up and get up here.”

“Ow! Watch my ears!”

“You had it coming, mister.”

“Alright, you like dishing it out, but can you take it?”

“What? You’re gonna pull my ears?”

“Not exactly.”

The bed creaks as bodies change positions, and movements change rhythms. For several minutes the only sounds are breaths breaking like rapid waves.

“Oh- Okay… I kinda liked it when you talked.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I liked it when you said you loved me, there’s just something about the shape of your mouth in those words...”

He laughs melodically on an exhale.

"The shape of my mouth makes no difference right now."

"Yes, it does."

"I love you. I love you. I love you." His voice moves from moan to determined whisper.

"Thank you."

"Rory-" Gasps and sharp breaths, some with tone, some with just structure, tumble over each other and then quickly subside.

An unknown amount of time passes before she clears her throat and speaks again.

"What time is it?"

"Does it matter?"

"Maybe." She might be up to something.

"Almost noon." He's reluctant.

"We should get up."

"Should we? It's Sunday."

"How is that relevant for us?"

"It's the day of rest. Applies to all. Honest to god."

"Ha-ha. But think of all the things we could do if we get up... We could go for breakfast at The First Meal. And we could go to PAFA, or the park, I bet, if we get going now we could hike the entire thing by sun down."

"To what purpose?" He rarely whines, now however...

"Have you seen the sky? It's spring! We should be out there, skipping! Having coffee and donuts."

"You always have coffee and donuts."

"But I bet I'll enjoy them more today."

"Well, there's no arguing with that logic." He surrenders.

"Nope."

"Okay then. It's a plan."

"Great! Provided we get up."

"Obviously. Hey, that's your phone."

She answers. He’s busies himself exploring the texture of their sheets. Squinting and shifting focus while watching dust particles float like inverted stars in the sunlight. She hangs up moments later and everything happens fast after that. Too fast for this morning, noon. She stays quiet, and any silence from her always makes him pay attention. So, he turns, her face is blank.

 

•••

 

"That was Condé Nast." She says, flatly.

"Oh no. They move it up again?"

"No, they moved it back, actually."

He’s on his elbows within seconds.

"Really?"

"They got a cancellation and want to see me first thing tomorrow."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Well, we gotta get you to the airport."

He’s out of bed in moments, pulling on his clothes. She’s slow, her body’s automatic motions pulling her along. He heads out to the kitchen and puts on coffee while finishing getting dressed. She follows, having only made it into her underwear, but remains at the door, watching him.

"We had a plan." She says. He looks up.

"Never mind the plan. We can do that at any time."

She remains still. He raises his eyebrows and cocks his head to the side.

"You’ve been waiting for this meeting for months-"

"Right."

"And here’s your chance." He finishes.

She meets his eyes.

"You don’t even think I should do this."

He walks up to her.

"Rory, no." He starts, placating. Stops, and drags his hand over his face. "I didn't mean to cause trouble." He sounds jagged, grappling for words. "I- you haven’t seemed happy and- I want you to be happy. You’ve been waiting for this."

"Yeah. I’ve been waiting." She says, with aim. "And they haven’t. I’m not even a blip on their radar, just a post in their agenda that can be moved around."

"Hey, that is not what- who you are!" He says, desperation audible. "You have weight. They booked the meeting!"

"Four months ago." She goes coolly.

"Rory." His tone pleading now. "Grab your things. Let me drive you to the airport."

She turns and walks back into the bedroom. Longs for the unavoidable relief she’s gotten used to when they push her meeting up. And now he'll have to drive her to the airport and they'll have to say goodbye as she'll have to run to the gate and the day will cease to be blushing skin and barely dormant lust and oceans of time stretched out before them to do with what they please, and become that twinging ache in the pit of her tummy, her racing heart as everything about it feels like a steep uphill. For a moment she's furious, before her grinding gears finally slows to a halt and stops at "no". She pulls out her phone and calls them back.

When she walks back into the kitchen Jess is leaning on the sink, a cup of coffee untouched on the counter. He looks at her as she enters, the question clear in his eyes.

"I’m not going." She says, and instantly sees the objection in his face. "Don’t worry, I didn’t cancel it, just asked them for a bit more of an aiming point next time."

His expression doesn't change, and he shakes his head, seemingly at a loss for words.

"This is my decision." She insists. "Remember that meeting I took with Sandee Says?"

He nods.

"Well, they really wanted me, but they still needed me to sell myself, I wasn’t prepared, and I botched it. So, imagine what a place like Condé Nast will need from me. They will need me to bring ideas, put the pieces together and then sell them and myself all over again, with no guarantee that they’ll even buy it in the end. And I’ll have to smile all along, and pretend I’m hungry enough for it. And I’m just not, not anymore."

He listens quietly.

"I’m tired, Jess. Of chasing jobs down. Of never feeling safe. Of fighting not to take rejection personally all the time. And I'm ashamed, 'cause this is what I set out to do, and it feels like I'm failing if I say no to it, but... I'm exhausted. If this is what success is, then I don't think I want it. But I don't know what to do instead." It feels like relief to speak the words, even if they just make her problem more tangible. She looks at Jess, who doesn't seem to feel relief, more like the opposite.

"I don't know what to say." He pauses before continuing, lower. "I can’t stand the possibility that I did this."

Now it's her time to shake her head.

"Well, my decision or not, you might have to get used to the idea that nothing goes down in a vacuum. I might not even have questioned this if it hadn’t been for you." She walks closer to him, musters a quasi-cheery smile. "But, don't worry, they'll be back to pushing my meetings in no time."

He sighs, still frowning.

"You said it yourself; it's what you've wanted since you were a kid."

"Yeah. But I also wanted to marry Chris Cornell, go into ballroom dancing, and live in Mark Twain's house. Dreams change."

"Fair enough. What do you dream of now?"

"In the long run? I don't really know. And I don't feel like thinking about it today, that was kind of the point I was trying to make. Now. I’m going back to bed. I’d love it if you came too. We had a great lack of plan and I’m sticking to it.” She turns, and walks back into the bedroom. Climbs into bed, under the covers. Stares at the ceiling and out the window. Tries to make her mind as blissfully blank as it was before her phone rang. A minute goes by, and Jess appears in the door. He walks up to the bed and lies down next to her.

“I hate that I can’t help you with this.”

“What was it you told me in New York?" She taps her lower lip with her finger. "Right. I can’t fix you. You can’t fix me. We just live with each other’s wreckage.”

He looks at her, eyes dark and serious. She goes on.

"But, believe it or not; you are helping me, just not in the ways you might be aware of."

She leans over, putting their faces together. Can't help her herself.

"You reciting poetry between my legs is in fact so helpful, that I think we should do our best to maximize its effect; why don't you try reading some Hemingway down there? I'm betting I'd like him a whole lot better under those circumstances."

He smiles then, at first a defeated little smile, that quickly grows wide until it vibrates with contained laughter. And she kisses him, forcefully pulling the both of them back into light oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art at the top by the great fayevalcntine, more stuff like that can be found on her tumblr.  
> Quotes from Anne Sexton's "Angels of the Love Affair" and Pablo Neruda's "Every Day You Play".


	10. Semesters (1 ¾)

_Once innocence was lost / There was not faith enough / Still my heart held on._

**That kind of Love, Alison Krauss**

 

**June 2016**

 

And so, they find themselves at dinner at Liz’ and TJ’s. It’s in no way a disaster, but what does that matter when it feels like one? It’s at these times Jess wishes he’d paid more attention to Liz' hippie mumbo-jumbo. Astral projection could really come in handy on evenings like these. Hanging out with Liz and her oaf of a husband is definitely at the bottom of the list of things he likes to do, right below being strapped to an ant hill. The likeness is completely relevant since he imagines the sensation being roughly the same. Every ounce of his energy goes towards keeping control of himself, all while his skin crawls with irritation. His words, tone, even physical movements, all strapped down by sheer force of will.

Rory’s a gem, of course, chatting away with his mother and simply bearing with TJ’s tirades on whatever silly new hobby he’s into. Jess smiles at Doula across the table, and she smiles back. It’s strange to see it split her face, she looks like him. It’s inescapable. Practically a copy of him at ten, only with longer hair. It unnerves him plenty. Seeing himself in younger forms, be it exterior or in character traits, he feels hopelessly helpless. He cannot relive that part of his life, not even via someone else, but with Doula he has no choice. She’s his sister. Finding out she was coming is still one of the worst days of his life, and that’s saying something. His mother having another kid, dropping another sucker in this mess, as he’s heard Luke put it. He knew he’d be bound to her forever, and to Liz for at least another 18 years.

Since then he’s been in a constant state of push and pull with Stars Hollow and his mother’s house. It’s been worsened by that feeling already existing in him because of Luke and Rory. He goes to see his sister about twice a semester in different forms, the good ones being when he can pick her up and go for donuts, or babysit her. The bad ones being dinner, because of their- her parents. It feels utterly useless sitting there, exchanging chit-chat, not being able to have a decent conversation with Doula without it being party-crashed by the last two people you’d want at your party.

He’s an expert at avoiding dinner invitations from Liz. For starters he never picks up the phone when she calls but makes her leave a message stating her business. If she needs him to pick Doula up, from anything, for anything, he'll call her back, accepting and alluding to the thing he has planned for the night of the day in question. If she's trying to invite him to dinner, he'll wait up until the last moment to call her back making up some excuse. He is a writer after all, good stories are sort of his thing, and Liz is gullible, one of her more redeeming qualities, actually. But then Rory picked up his phone while he was in the shower, and here they are.

"We're so happy about you Rory," Liz says, not for the first time this evening. "If nothing else then for actually answering his phone. I never get to spend any time with him."

Rory blushes and shoots Jess a furtive look.

"Well, he is usually very busy," she says, having learned her lesson and thus laying the groundwork for a few months of peace and quiet. "You just caught us at a good time. Lucky."

This exchange drones on for a few minutes, one white lie after another covering each other, like plaster over a hole, repetitive. He turns to Doula.

"How'd you do in school?"

Rory turns her attention to them at the mention of the word 'school'. Doula rolls her eyes at him.

"I flunked math. I gotta go to summer school 'cause of it."

A potentially sick idea appears to him, he smiles wickedly.

"Hey, Rory here’s a really good tutor."

Rory laughs, loudly.

"Oh, like you’d know. You spent the entire time bugging me with card tricks and music quizzes."

Doula's eyes light up and she shares one of her rare smiles.

"You tutored him?"

Rory glares at him for a split second before returning to being the people-pleaser she is and answering Doula.

"For one night only."

"I was a hopeless case." He can't help himself. Rory elbows him in the stomach.

"What Jess is trying to say is that he wasn’t really serious about learning."

"I wanna learn." Doula says, eager now.

Rory chuckles a little, shrugs and says;

"Well, I’d be happy to see you after school someday this week, before we head back home."

Doula turns pink, eyes almost beaming at the promise, pretty.

"Would you do that, Rory?" Liz looks delighted.

"I'm probably not the best idea for a steady tutor considering the distance, but-" She turns back to Doula. "We could talk, see if we can figure out what the problem is. That might be helpful if you get a reoccurring teacher later."

Doula nods fervently. He has to swallow to rid himself of the feeling of irrational pride over Rory at that moment. Her being this way has nothing to do with him, and her tendency to care about, and always do her utmost for other people has worried him more through the years than anything else. But he sees it now, the upside, for others as well as herself.

"I'll text you later and we can decide a time." Rory continues at Doula.

"Doula here sure could use the help-" TJ starts, and Jess knows from experience that this is his cue.

"Hey, kid," he interrupts, "didn't you have new music to play me?"

"Yes!" Doula responds enthusiastically. "Come on!"

She gets up and pulls Jess up by the hand and he gestures at Rory to follow, he can't bear to leave her alone with Liz and TJ after she's pulled all the weight through dinner. She follows after shooting the hosts an apologetic smile.

They walk into Doula's room, which is a mish-mash of pink and black, a child going on teenager. The walls are covered in paintings and sketches by her and her friends, motifs ranging from cute animals to romance to the goth-aesthetic. Rory walks around and looks at the pictures, and he lets himself be escorted to the cherry-armchair by his sister who then proceeds to play Meliora off her computer.

"New Wave Metal, huh?" He says after a while. "That means you'll be getting an Edgar Allan Poe anthology for your birthday."

"Please, no more books!" She says.

"You gotta read!" He objects. "I have nothing but books to offer you!"

"Fine! Just no Poe!" She laughs.

"See, this is what happens when you try too hard with Hemingway." Rory teases.

 

"If you like Ghost, you should listen to Korn too. And Tool." Jess says, as they exit her room.

"They’re old men." Doula retorts.

Rory giggles audibly.

“For all you know Ghost could be senior citizens." He argues. "That or they're young punk versions of who they’re about to become. Everybody gets old."

"Promise?" Doula says and Jess smiles at her.

"Not yet, young lady." TJ cuts in from the kitchen. He leans on the doorframe while Liz does the dishes. "That ghoul-band o’ hers played in New York a bit back, she wanted to go but I said no way, José."

“He’s such a first-time parent." Liz says knowingly. "I keep telling him; kids need to grow up wild, just look at my Jess."

Jess turns his sigh into a slow breath. TJ shoots him an unimpressed look and turns to Rory in a confidential tone.

"Me and Liz have different ideas about what a good example is."

Something happens to Rory's face at that moment, and it's so rare that it actually takes a second for him to identify it. It's cold rage. Her blue eyes suddenly bear a striking resemblance with a glacier, and her ever smiling mouth become a thin line as she presses her lips together. It's kind of a sight for sore eyes. Nevertheless, Rory's good favors to his family is the only thing making it bearable to spend time with them, so, an actual conflict would not be good. He puts a hand at the small of her back, ushering her towards the door, and tries not to rush it.

"We should go. Thanks for dinner.” He turns back and winks at Doula. “Let me know next time there’s a gig, okay? I’ll take you.”

His sister smiles at him, almost jumping in the spot.

 

“TJ's an effing moron.” Rory growls as soon as they’re walking down the driveway. He puts his arm around her, partly thanking her for her support, partly holding her in place so she doesn’t get any bad ideas.

“It’s better if he thinks I’m a fuck-up,” he explains, “means he won’t let Liz run the show. If she had her way Doula'd run around their ren-fairs with no supervision, and she probably would’ve shipped her off to New York on her own.”

He sighs.

“She has no idea what could happen to a kid in either one of those situations. And there she is referring to me as some kind of success story. It's embarrassing.”

“You are a success story.” Rory retorts.

He squeezes her closer as they’re walking. The relief of being out of there almost makes him euphoric.

“It could’ve been worse,” he admits. She looks at him with stern-face. He smiles and kisses her head. “Fine. It could’ve been a lot worse. My point is, it’s not ‘cause of her so-called parenting. TJ being protective of their ten-year-old is ultimately a good thing.”

Rory looks at him skeptically.

"Do you really think I care what that clown thinks of me?” He answers her wordless expression. “Only reason I'm here's 'cause of Doula."

The evening is warm and still light. They're in no hurry and slowly make their way to the town center and the diner. They've never gotten out of the habit of staying there when they're together, no matter how comfortable Lorelai's gotten with the idea of the two of them. At times it strikes him as odd, considering how big a part this town, her background, is of her. But maybe that's the thing; maybe she needs it to be new to her. And in a way, it's just a choice between staying in hers or his old room. And his is closer to the food and coffee, after all. He smiles to himself and kisses her temple again. She makes a little whining sound.

"What?"

"I wish you hadn't said I'm a good tutor. Now, maybe they'll have expectations."

He shakes his head.

"Your worst will impress them."

"I just don't see myself as very good at this. Teaching you got us in a car accident-"

"Don't you dare take responsibility for that!" A familiar guilt jabs him in the chest.

"-and when I was supposed guide this Chilton-girl through Yale I lost her."

They're almost at the diner now, and he halts her, turns her around and ambles the last steps with her facing him.

"Through no fault of yours, I guarantee it." He buries his face in the crook of her neck, mumbles. "And it's not just about schoolwork, it's about being a role-model."

"Hey, watch where you're going! And that's not exactly calming."

He stops them and looks up at her. She's serious and looks worried. There's tenderness, from seeing her like that. He's partly grateful that she lets him see it, but also has trouble responding to it in any real way that doesn't seem like a pat on the head.

"You’ll help her, just by seeing her, I know it." He tries, thinking of himself as a kid. About them being thrown together by his grades slipping. About them both sort of knowing that there was something else in the works, something no amount of tutoring would help. About him still doing it, because any excuse to spend time with her was welcome, how he even would have studied, he thinks, had they made it back to the diner. And he thinks about how that experience could have put her off helping someone else, and feels bad, even a bit panicky. "It’s different for girls. She could actually use it, it could make a real difference to her.”

As if to end the conversation he kisses her at that moment and it's not just any kiss. He leans her against the wall with the full length of his body and keeps her in place with one hand at her neck and one at her back, under her jacket, under her shirt. The force contrasted by the softness of her mouth and the gusts of rapid breath and-

"You're amazing." He says, with unguarded adoration. Mouth trembling, she smiles.

"Save it 'til I've seen Doula-" She tries. He shakes his head.

"No. You're fucking amazing."

 

•••

 

Two days later Rory's at Luke's with a cup of coffee, waiting for Doula, who chose the venue. Luke is off with Jess in Hartford picking up material for the latest interior project at the house, and they’re supposed to work at it during the day.

Doula's punctual, and comes carrying a seemingly heavy - considering the tilt in her angular body - bag in brown leather. Her dark hair is spread over her shoulders and slightly across her face, and she strokes it behind an ear smiling shyly at Rory as she enters the diner.

"Hi."

"Hi." Rory gets up and grabs the bag off her shoulder. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah."

"Great. Won't you go order what you want? I'm pretty sure it's on the house. And I'll pay otherwise."

Doula walks up to the counter and places an order with Ceasar.

"So, what area is the most difficult for you?" Rory asks as Doula comes back with soda for herself.

"Can my answer be all of them? Math is the worst. It's this world where things just are without explanation or back story or purpose. And I've tried turning my head off, but it, it just doesn't work. Can you teach me how to do that?"

"That is a skill I've yet to master, unfortunately. But maybe I can help you to distract yourself enough so that you'll be able to work. Are you sure you can't narrow it down for me?"

"I was doin' alright until equivalent fractions. When we started, I was sure I got it, but then it turned out I didn't. The problem is my head is constantly convinced that it knows what's up, but all my results are wrong. And that's a real problem, 'cause I can't start over, since I'm sure I get it, only I don't."

"Well, let's look at it. Show me how you think. Take me through a problem."

Doula opens her book and turns to fractions, picking an assignment.

 

"See, you might be over-thinking this." Rory says after a while. "At some point visualizing makes them unreliable. You gotta trust the numbers."

"How can I trust them? They can represent anything. I know that's the point, but it just feels wrong."

"But they just are what they are, nothing else. They work."

"I don't know, Rory. I don't think it's working. I'm not built for this. I mean, you've met my parents, I don’t stand a chance.”

"Don't give up," Rory smiles, ignoring the bit about Liz and TJ, "you can do this. People get hung up on mathematics being the ultimate abstraction, but sometimes it's the complete opposite. It's all there, the tools you need to work it out. And if you stick to the formula, and repeat it enough, then it becomes second nature, like knitting... or..." Rory grasps for a likeness. “What’s your favorite subject?”

“Art.”

“Those pictures in your room? They were yours? They’re so beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

“You try to take the joy you get from the subjects you love and let it spill over the others. It’ll still suck but you try to find some of it in them too. Like, in math there’s geometry. That’s artsy. And in chemistry you could draw the measurements by your notes, it’ll help you remember and relax. See where I’m going with this?”

“Yeah. Keep drawing.”

“That’s right. And if you feel stupid, don’t be scared to admit that. It’s not self-bashing to admit that you need help. It’s even disarming to a lot of people. You could start a study-group, peer-studies are really good if there’s something you don’t get. Like, in college, I signed up for this course, and was in way over my head, but I couldn’t drop it. So, I sort of picked a few people that seemed like they were getting it, and I asked them to help me in exchange for me arranging the study-dates right down to supplying coffee, and they were totally in. Passed the course too. You know, sometimes there’s nothing wrong with being the weakest link academically, as long as you bring something to the table, literally and figuratively speaking.”

 

They try another assignment and Rory steers Doula more this time, telling her what to focus on. As they work she thinks about what Doula said. Does she think she's stupid? Rory’s scared to ask, but goes for it anyway after a while.

“How are things at home?”

Doula looks at her for a second before answering, and for a fraction of that she looks exactly like her brother, scoping out the territory, guarded. Rory swallows.

“They’re fine. Dad’s sort of clumsy, but he doesn’t mean any harm, like ever. Mom lets me be mostly, as long as I don’t get into trouble she’s happy." She pauses, hesitates, then goes on. "You should have seen her when I got into a fight with Sheryl Hicks though. First, she yelled at me like she's never yelled before, then she gave me the silent treatment, but then it was like she forgot about it or something. Follow-through isn't really her strong suit.”

"What happened with Sheryl Hicks?" Rory asks, unsuitably curious. Doula turns to her and starts telling the story, gesturing as she goes.

“Alright, so, Sheryl hassled me for days, she's got something against me, for some reason. Told everyone I'd written love letters to Richie Johnson, which is totally untrue, because yuck!" She gags for emphasis, then takes a breath and continues. "She keyed my locker, shoved me in PE and ruined my drawing with black marker. So, finally, I lost it and tore out a big chunk of her hair." Doula settles in her chair again, and turns her eyes to the table. "She left me alone after that, but mom was so angry, said she might as well have had Jess back, like it was the worst thing ever.”

Rory listens to her quietly, doesn't want to disturb whatever it is she wants off her chest. Doula gives her a dark look.

"So, y'know, she talks about wanting to see him more, but... when he's around she seems sort of uncomfortable. And I don't blame her 'cause, it's like he's giving her the forever version of the silent treatment, he so quiet. Not at all like when we're hanging out, he'll go on and on about music or books and be all goofy-like." She smiles a little inward smile while she speaks, then she falls silent and bites her lip, eyes wary. "I did ask him, you know... Why he hates mom."

Rory turns her head to look at her sharply.

"It's obvious he does," Doula goes on defensively. "He's so different when it's just us."

Rory feels herself soften, of course he is. She tilts her head.

"What'd he say?"

"Told me to mind my own business."

Rory smiles.

"And did you?"

"No way. I kept nagging him 'til he gave in. Sort of."

Rory holds her breath.

"He said that he has trust-issues with her for not protecting him when he was a kid. Whatever that means."

She looks at Rory questioning before continuing.

"Do you know?"

"No," Rory admits. "He pretty much told me to mind my own business too... I have some ideas though, but... I do think, maybe we should, mind our own businesses."

This is the first time she's formulated any stance that's expressed moderation concerning this, and she's having a hard time believing herself. Doula looks disappointed.

"Oh, come on!" She says.

"He's trying to protect you." Rory puts her hand on Doula's arm.

"But I already know it's bad!" Doula protests. "Now it's like there are monsters under my bed, and maybe he made sure they can't come and get me, but they're still there!"

The imagery makes the hairs on Rory's neck stand up, especially since she recognizes the feeling it conveys. She jabs her nails into her fists to focus enough to produce some comfort for Doula. She decides to run with the metaphor.

"Well, maybe, it's still the best option; if you have to stay in that room, then it's preferable that they can't get you, or that you can't see them, even if you know they're-" She's freaking herself out, and wouldn't listen to herself if she was Doula, so, she changes direction. "Or maybe he knows they're not so bad. Maybe they're old now. Toothless. Senile."

Doula smiles, obviously considering it.

"Old and toothless monsters."

Rory nudges her shoulder with her own.

"Maybe you can draw 'em."

"Maybe I'll make 'em cute and cuddly."

"Yeah."

"It's a good idea." Doula mumbles, mostly to herself. "It'll help me get back to sleep when I wake up at night."

Another chill of recognition runs through Rory.

"That happen often?"

Doula shrugs.

"I have nightmares. And I'm too old to wake Mom and Dad over it."

Rory swallows.

"What are they about?"

Doula regards her for a few moments too long before answering.

"Just the monsters."

 

They sit with the book for a while longer, share a donut, before calling it quits. Rory walks Doula home. Liz is in the driveway when they get there, so they exchange pleasantries and Rory reports on the tutoring session. But Rory's looking at her differently now. Searches her, for... what? Something bad? Something worse than average ignorance? Doula is so much like him. Same eyes, mouth, way of speaking, and staying quiet. She sees all the same things in her, but nowhere near Liz. And since they have different fathers… She wonders how much of him is just him being stronger in his broken places. She wonders what he’s really like. The only thing she finds in Liz, though, is some willful silly. There's no apparent malice, and yet, there has to be.

As soon as she’s leaving she fights back tears. Why doesn’t she know? Why is she interrogating a ten year old and trying to figure out her would-be mother in law by speculating and staring. She should be able to talk to her boyfriend about this. How could she not know?

 

Nevertheless, the rest of the day progresses like it normally would, she packs up her stuff for the trip back to Philadelphia and goes to have dinner with Lane and her family. She doesn’t mention any of it to her friend. Just feels slightly off. Lorelai’s working late, so she just goes back to the diner, and goes to bed with her book. Can’t concentrate, can’t fall asleep. Just winds up staring at the ceiling.

It’s almost eleven when Jess sneaks in. He gets into bed with her, places his hand over her bare tummy. She grabs it, to wordlessly let him know she’s awake.

“Hi.” He says.

“Why don’t you talk to me?”

There’s silence, supposedly while he processes her tone.

“What’s going on?”

“There’s just, so much stuff that you never tell me.” She doesn't want her voice betraying how worked up she already is, tries to keep it low.

“If this is about Liz, I thought we covered that way back. I have my reasons.”

“If you’re referring to our conversation on why it'd be a bad idea for you to write an autobiography or not- then you're right; it was way, way back. But I’m not some reader, Jess. I’m-" She's interrupted by the shift in the mattress when he turns to her in the murky room, and puts their faces close together.

“You’re you.” He says.

“I’m yours." She pleads. "You can trust me.”

"It's not about trust." He sighs, and the gust of breath brushes her face. "There's just, no use rehashing that unless there are gains, and I can’t change the past so..."

"It might bring you closer to the person you tell."

"Or you just end up with another person's shit to live with. I hate to break this to you, but talking doesn’t always help, it doesn’t always make things clearer, you and your mom chat constantly and it still hasn’t prevented you falling out."

She considers this and thinks about Night who’s probably who he’s told, but of course there's no way she can know that for sure.

"You're not just any person," she starts, "and I already live with your shit." She waits for a second to see if her profanity has any effect, but he remains silent. "Just tell me something." She continues, frustrated, but hesitates before going on, doesn't want them winding up in a fight. "There are actually reasons for me not to trust you, you know. But it's like I don't have a choice, and I really don't know why. I don't understand it, and it's just wrong for me to do something and not know why."

He sighs again, with some tone in his breath this time.

"It might change the way you look at people who are in our life. Definitely Liz, maybe Luke. Perhaps even me! Would you risk that?"

"I’ve already imagined things."

"Stop doing that." He goes firmly. "Knowing’s different."

"Do you hate Liz?" She asks and have to keep her voice even by force of will, the idea of hating your own mother being too out there. Lorelai has been pretty aversive towards Emily through the years, but it's always been clear, at least to Rory, that her mother has wished for their relationship to be better. Jess by contrast seems to avoid contact at all costs, which makes Doula's theory valid, and Rory worried.

"Don’t do this." It's his turn to plead. "I am what I am, you don’t need to know why, as long as it works. It works. And at some point you might need to accept that you’ll never fully understand and still be happy."

"Well, your sister thinks you hate the mother the two of you share, so if that's not the case, maybe you should tell her." Her voice is definitely trembling by now. Shoot.

"I don't hate her!" He says. "Not that I haven't tried. I just, can't forgive her. I've tried that too. I tried." He looks at her earnestly, his eyes darker than the darkness surrounding them, then goes on. "But the thing is: She screwed up with me but she's not the same person to Doula. And just 'cause I feel this way 'bout her doesn't give me the right to wreck Doula's view of her mother."

Rory shakes her head, his reasoning is... reasonable, responsible, and yet...

"That's all neat and stuff, but you should know by now that you can't split things up like that. People aren't an exact science. She knows something's up, and that bleeds into her reality. It's messy, and you have to deal with that somehow. And me!" She takes a sharp breath. "I feel like there's nothing you can't see. I can't even lie myself some personal space, you always see it. And it's not fair, 'cause with you it's like I can't-" Her voice breaks.

"Alright.” He says softly, reaching out a hand to grab hers. He sighs, and there are a few moments of silence. "Just one thing."

He places her hand on his forehead, steering her fingers to the little dent in his hairline, she’s felt it a hundred times and never asked.

"What's that?" She asks, suddenly afraid.

"No big deal really," he says. "A car accident, not even a bad one. But there were circumstances. Liz lied to the doctor, the police. I was five, I think. It’s just one thing, and a lot of what happened wasn’t Liz’ fault, directly, more what, or who she was under the influence of at the time, but I do know that a parent is supposed to provide a seat belt, in any form. And this was first time I understood that I wasn't... safe. And once that was in my head..."

"It doesn't go away," she finishes.

"No, it doesn't.”

For a second they look at each other in complete understanding.

“You remember our accident?” He mumbles unevenly.

“Of course.”

“Yeah.” He pauses. And she lets the reference sink in. When he speaks again his voice is hushed but sadness still audible. “Okay?"

She sighs.

"Okay."

"I'll talk to Doula," he says, "and... If you still need to know; I can tell you more in eight years."

"Eight years?"

"Doula’ll be 18, let the chips fall where they may."

She watches him through the shadows for a while. Tries to imagine him with only Luke’s influence. Would he still be silent? Would he still do that thing where he stares at people until they’re practically crying? Would he still be deflecting, evasive, instead of confrontational? Would he keep secrets? And would all these things still be construed as kindnesses, the better alternative? Would he still be able to take a beating? And would he still love her - if he didn't feel this need to collect and conserve every kindness and wrong ever done to him?

"A lot can happen in eight years."

"Yeah, or extremely little. It's better for Doula. Liz is sober now. That'll help. And she has this place, a present, albeit silly father, Luke, and she has me."

"And me."

"And you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry 'bout the math.


	11. Summer

_You’re the one, you’re all I ever wanted, I think I’ll regret this._

**Your Best American Girl, Mitski**

 

**July 2016**

 

"Who was that?" He asks as she hangs up.

"Mom. Just keeping me updated on the latest." Her answer is breezy enough, but she sits down next to him in their green couch where he's stationed himself with his laptop, working. He feels her gaze and glances at her, she's chewing on her lip, cogs clearly turning.

"Something I should know about?"

"They're closing the Gazette."

"The town paper?"

"Yup."

"Good riddance." He looks back to his screen, but naturally not for long.

"What? No!"

"Oh, come on! I lived there for almost two years; They recycled articles in almost every issue, except when Taylor had some new project, they published the same poem for each season, not to mention Kirk's gossip column! Who cares what Babette had for breakfast?"

"You know, mocking is a defense mechanism." She pats him on the head.

"I was stating facts, what's that a mechanism for?"

"You know... We could help out with this." She twirls a strand of his hair around her finger, uh oh.

"Oh, no."

"Oh, yes! This is work we could do in our sleep."

"No!" He angles his head away from her grasp. "That saying should only apply when you're actually able to sleep through it!"

She obviously ignores his verbal and physical objections and scoots closer to him until they're side to side.

"We could spend a few weeks terrorizing Taylor 'til he gives in, you'd be good for that. I could create some new content, and you could edit, or the other way around. But you know, preferably the first alternative since editing involves the least amount of social interaction. And we could spend some time with Luke and mom and Doula."

"Rory. I'll gladly visit for a few days. But weeks? Why don't you do it? You wouldn't mind doing it while conscious."

"Please?"

"You don't need me."

"No. But I want you." He has no choice.

 

The premises holding The Gazette is placed in one of Stars Hollow's oldest buildings. Nice for a history lesson, terrible for any kind of actual activity. He's convinced that Esther and Charlie have survived all their years in this place by developing near lizard-like behavior; The lethargy is the only way for the human body to deal with the summer-heat. It makes work in there painful, warm to the point of them having to keep blowing fans on the desk and in the corner but not even close to how many they would've needed. The electricity in the building is adapted to the standard from fifty years ago making it incompatible with a lot of electrical devices, and with no hope of an upgrade since the building is apparently listed. Can't mess with historical heritage. It's probably freezing during winter time. He imagines their so-called colleagues in their set positions but in winter wear indoors.

All in all, it's just as bad as he knew it would be. This is not his idea of a vacation. He glares at Rory from across the desk. She's typing away at her computer, seemingly enjoying herself. He shakes his head. The things you do for love.

They've been here for almost two weeks. Taylor was very accommodating when he learned that they considered it charity work, a summer project. But Jess still catches him staring suspiciously at him daily, he definitely would have preferred just Rory on this. And as their work has progressed it's become clear that their so-called employer intends to prey shamelessly on her civic duty, even after they finish the issue. And she seems susceptible to the obvious manipulation. That and the heat makes his blood boil. This is not a viable alternative to her previous career, this isn't how it's supposed to go. Rory fucking Gilmore working for scraps in her hometown.

But hey, if she finds it fulfilling and could make it her own, maybe. Except she won't. Because nobody likes change around here. Not really. He already knew that too so it's no surprise when she comes back after lunch with Taylor at her heels; she's looking decimated and he's going on and on in his mincing manner about tradition, and how if they changed the poem civilization as it's known would end.

"Fine," Rory says. "We'll keep the poem, but what about the other changes?"

"Young lady-" He starts, and she mumbles something about not really being that young. "If we went around and changed every little thing for change itself, we wouldn't have a leg to stand on."

She's losing her considerable patience, he can tell.

"I'm merely suggesting we don't publish the annual program for town events again, from what I can tell it's been in the last two issues."

"People are expecting it! Old issues are already in the waste-bin."

Jess stares at Taylor from his place at the desk, tapping his fingers on the wood.

"But what do you expect us to do with the paper, Taylor?" She asks, voice bordering on desperate.

Taylor seems to think about it for a few moments, then:

"New bylines?"

He can't shut up anymore, concentrates his gaze on the desk to not lose it completely.

"This is insane, Taylor! You have two highly qualified editors and no salary to even cover one. The work entails no creative freedom, no nothing except maintaining the status quo, you might as well send the same pdf to the printers for every issue."

"Young man, seems to me you could use the experience of upholding the status quo for once in your troublesome life."

The urge to resort to name-calling - something along the lines of 'old man' seems appropriate for good measure - is too strong. He opens his mouth but Rory sneaks between them, once more deflecting disaster.

"Alright, Taylor. We'll discuss it and get back to you."

Taylor seems appeased by this, and possibly a little relieved at Rory shielding him, and leaves the Gazette.

 

•••

 

They're on a bench by the Gazebo, a paper cup of coffee each despite it being too late for it. The air cools off distinctly in the evening, but it's still warm. It's dark outside, the only light being supplied by the street lights and Miss Patty's studio where Taylor is heading some inexplicable exercise for the cast of the musical they're putting on. The actors are jogging, walking, dancing around the square in increasingly bizarre ways, chanting something partly resembling a marching song and what seems to be bits and pieces of the shows original, and questionable, material. Distracting to say the least, but no worse than Taylor, standing on the steps of the studio, keeping the pace with random shouts and sirens wailing off of his megaphone.

Rory's frowning, and staring at her coffee, trying to think her way out of the bear trap that is the situation at the Gazette. She's in the midst of it, when Jess' voice breaks through the fog in her head.

"I gotta go back home."

She straightens in her seat.

"No!"

He sighs, expression on his face equal parts apology and irritation.

"Last fall we were swamped and totally unprepared, I wanna get ahead of the curve this time."

“But what about lifeguard-duty?" She tries. "You’re signed up for another turn next week.”

“Uh-uh! I am not doing that again. Not unless Patty and Babette start keeping their thoughts to themselves, and you know that'll be when hell freezes over. Doula was right there!”

"But we're not done with the issue yet!"

"Sure we are. And the few things left you can handle on your own."

He's right, but the disappointment she feels is real, just the same.

"I thought you were seeing this through with me."

"I'd like to, but-"

He's interrupted by a wail from the megaphone. She shoots him a look, which he returns with another sigh.

"Fine, I don't, but that's not the point. Gotta prioritize my real work."

"Real, schmeal! That's not all you do!" Rory objects, feeling her frustration grow. "What about your own writing?"

"Stop projecting." He sing-songs, and it makes her lose it.

"Hey, for your information I'm not lacking in creative projects. You don't know everything I'm up to; I wrote something."

He blinks at her.

"Really?"

She hesitates.

"Yeah, I- I wrote a first chapter of something autobiographical."

"What? About your life?" A smile spreads across his face.

"That's what autobiographical means," she quips, "but, it doesn't really matter. It was a bust anyways."

He flinches and frowns as another shout from the siren cuts through the night.

"Like hell it doesn't matter! Tell me." His tone is sharp, and she raises her voice to match it.

"I didn't think it through, alright? I didn't consider who it'd effect."

"What happened?" He's stares at her intently by now.

"I told my mom, and she wasn't thrilled over the prospect of being in a potential book." Her volume and speed decreases distinctly as she speaks the words.

He gapes at her.

"And you're backing down."

"You don't get it, if it hurts her-"

He grabs her hands, and speaks deliberately, parries her evasive eyes with his, everywhere she looks.

"It won't hurt her. You love each other. We covered this subject a long time ago. I'm the one who can't write about my mom, no amount of flowery meta-phrasing will be enough, remember? But you and Lorelai, no matter what you write you'll put the rest of us to shame."

"She said no,"

"So? She doesn't own the rights to your life." He shakes his head, eyes dark. "Shit, Rory, you've been in a rut for over a year, and when you finally find something... " He presses his lips together for a brief pause. "This place. It's a swamp."

Sure, he's talking about a place, but she knows it implies the people there too. Anger floods her. He goes on.

"Don't settle for this. Just 'cause you dropped the idea of Condé Nast doesn't mean you have to retreat. Run some run-down paper in your hometown. You don't need to be a big fish in a small pond, or krill in the Atlantic Ocean. You could just do your own thing."

"And what exactly is that?" She pulls her hands away from under his.

He sighs, rather sharply, impatiently, angry. And Taylor's voice chants rhythmically out the megaphone.

"I don't know! It's not my decision! That's my point. You have options, Rory! They're fucking infinite. Go back to school; Get into teaching; Write a book; Start editing... You name it. It's not unreasonable asking what you want. What do you want?"

She panics.

"What about you?"

"Geez!" He drags his hand across his face.

"What!? You have your own writing to do, I've seen it. When are you gonna make time for that? Is it always gonna take a backseat to Truncheon?"

This time it's feedback blaring through the megaphone, echoing between the buildings.

"Leave that alone, Rory. What I'm doing; That's it for me. So, if you had higher hopes for me then abandon them, right now!" He takes a breath, his eyes turning to the dark sky for a second. "I know I don't have a lot to offer, but there are some things; like; you could come work with us. We'd be happy to have you, and I know, you know, you'd be good at it."

He leans towards her as if meaning to continue, but Taylors voice cuts him off once more, and he jumps to his feet turning to the source of the noise.

"Dammit! Will you put that thing away on your own or do I have to come over there and take it away from you myself?"

Taylor puts his hands in the air.

"Well, well. You can take the hoodlum out of the hood, but-"

"But apparently there's no taking the Town Square out of the town square!"

"I have every right to be here. Town bylaws, paragraph-"

"It's nine pm! Now knock it off!"

Taylor waves dismissively at him.

"Remember the garden gnome!?" Jess shouts and Taylor pales. "Yeah!"

"Hey, this career advising-session stopped being about me a while ago." Rory says loudly, and Jess all but growls while turning back to her. "All you ever do is work on other people's stuff. Have you considered that Matt's gonna be a dad soon, and that that might mean more work for you? Are you willing to put that in? Maybe I'm not the only one who needs to review my life-choices."

"You're just saying that for company. Misery loves it." He glares at her, unflinching. "My job is enough for me. I'm not on some status-hunt. I don't need to label myself a writer to feel good about myself. I don't care what people think of me."

"And I do?"

"You know you do."

"And that's pathetic."

"That’s not what I said..."

"Yeah, no need for that."

She gets up too, bitterness stinging in her throat, and walks past him, in the direction of her old home.

 

She's in the couch, staring blankly at the muted TV about an hour later, when Lorelai comes home having worked late.

"Hey, hun." Lorelai leans over the side of the couch kissing her forehead.

"Hi mom."

Lorelai sits down next to her.

"What's up?"

"Me and Jess got in a fight."

"Yeah, figured as much since you're here, not attached at the hip with him. What was the fight about?"

"I don't know. Our lives."

"Wow, profound. I gather you didn't land on any grand solutions."

"Nope. He said he had to go back home, and the issue isn't done yet, so I-" She pauses, thinks about it. It seemed dramatic at the time, but now it just seems petty. "He wants me to set out some new kind of course for myself, I haven't been happy with work lately."

It's the first time she puts this into words so explicitly to her mother, and she holds her breath in wait for a response, vaguely puzzled that she didn't pick this end to start with, when telling her about her autobiography. Lorelai looks at her for a few moments, and then just seems to dismiss it, even with a little crooked smile.

"So, naturally, you defended yourself."

Rory sighs.

"By all means necessary."

"That's my girl."

“I might have some actual issues with goodbyes. Particularly when he’s the one leaving." She shakes her head. "So ridiculous.”

“But not inexplicable.” Lorelai mumbles, putting an arm around her.

"He was pissed, went on some rant about him at least not being obsessed with other people's opinions-"

"Ouch."

"-And he yelled at Taylor."

"Well, I like that."

They're silent.

"But, basically, you're fighting over who of you has to press 'send' to the printers?" Lorelai asks.

"Well..." Rory tries to find another angle, but is too tired to see it. "It is very embarrassing."

Lorelai chuckles. The front door opens and Luke walks into the house, stops by the couch and points to where he came from.

"Jess is out there. Sitting on the porch like some tomcat."

Her heart skips a beat.

“Yeah. Sorry about that.” She gets up. “I’ll take care of it.” She straightens her clothes, hesitates for a few seconds, then: "I have to keep writing, mom."

Lorelai's amused façade drops.

"We'll talk about it later." Rory says, and walks out onto the porch closing the door behind her.

 

He is sitting at the top step. She walks up to him, observing his shoulders rise and fall in a sigh. Finds herself no longer angry, but rather longing for him. She sits down next to him, the decreased physical distance both comforting and upsetting her.

"I love you, you know that, right?" He starts after a few beats, stares at the ground.

"Yes." She whispers.

"You're the kindest person I know. It may not seem it, but I love that part of you. And the thing is, you can't be kind without caring about other people."

She looks at him and he looks back.

"I respect you. I admire you.” He speaks slowly, like he’s concentrating. “And I should tell you more often. I'm pretty bad at this."

She softens as she considers that that is his opinion of himself. Warmth spreads in her chest.

"You're not bad at this, Jess." She hooks her arm around his and tangles their fingers together. "I have a bit more experience in this department, and I can tell you, that you are actually really good at it for the most part. You're patient, and supportive, and you may not always tell me with words, but you show me how you feel. I just need to hear it, occasionally. It's how I am."

"We're different. I mostly just know what I want. You think, weigh, figure it out, and that takes more time. I'll try to take that into account from now on."

"Hey. This wasn't even about you." She sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose with her free hand. "I'm all over the place in a fight."

"You're okay." He admits, some grim amusement in his voice. "You landed a few shots."

"So, the goal is to do damage?" She says, helpless smile on her lips.

"Sun Zi seems to think so."

"Silly."

"Yeah."

They're silent for a minute, before she asks.

"You're going?"

"I'm staying."

"Silly."

He shrugs.

"I don't mind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still with me? <3  
> Just three chapters to go... That's almost a bit upsetting.  
> I will slow down my updates a tad as the last chapters still need some work to make them go Zoom!  
> Count on an update every other day.


	12. Years (1)

_Claim the truth that gets lost / in the miles of memory and open folds / so change these rules and let’s cross / all the sacred boundaries we’ve overgrown._

**Close to Home, Vienna Teng**

**September 2016**

 

"You were on my case about us getting an early start to get to Stars Hollow in any sort of reasonable time frame, and now you're dragging your feet?" She taps her foot in the hallway.

"I can't find my white shirt, have you seen it? It was on a hook by the sink.” He walks between rooms searching. Whoops.

"I might have tossed it in the washing bin, it was wrinkly and I assumed-"

"Don't worry about it." He goes back into the bathroom and rifles through the basket. "Hey, are you bleeding again?" He asks while walking out of the room, garment in hand. "I'm in no way an expert, but isn't that supposed to be a lunar monthly event?"

"Well, the IUD can make it wonky. When I first got it, I bled for like several weeks, it calmed down, but apparently it's still a bit capricious..." She loses herself in thought for moments, mumbles: "I should probably try something different next time."

"Like what?" He squats, stuffing the last of his clothes into a bag.

"I don't know." Lane's words about her birth control of choice echoes in her head, and she winces while forcing her words. "Maybe you can help me decide, it concerns us both, after all."

"I have no preference, either way." He straightens up to a standing position.

"No, it's just that different kinds have different expiration dates, and maybe you've already made up your mind, but we should probably, trade words on the subject considering-" His face changes as her ramble gets out of hand. It wakes up, eyes moving, the external sign of him processing her words. She herself struggles to master the verbal thing – what is it that you control with birth control, again? "Considering we're... a we."

"Wait, are we talking about reproducing?"

"We're talking about contraceptives..." She quickly retorts, blushing wildly at the shame of yet another stumble into this important subject completely unprepared. Did she learn nothing? Is this what a real relationship is supposed to be like? It's exhausting. "But if we were, what would be your stance? Hypothetically."

He chews on his lower lip a bit before answering.

"Conflicted. You?"

What would be her stance? How could she not have given thought to this? Seems like one of those things you should have in your back pocket at all times, like an organ donor card.

"Same. I mean, my experience with my mom is great, but the circumstances... And the bar being really high. Scary."

"Yeah..." No more words fall from his mouth, although he would have things to say on the subject, wouldn't he? His expression seems fragile more than anything else, and it's not hard to trace. Or maybe he's just mirroring her. For a second she comforted by this similarity.

"So, I guess we'd have to think really long, and hard about it." She closes.

"Agreed." He nods.

Her mind reaches to imagine it, zaps between baby pictures of herself with focus on her mother's expression, that soft, tired face, and Doula appears to her, but, happy. Her heart aches, with something she can't place. She's instantly convinced she could do it, what her mother did, but finds she doesn't want to, it's a bit of a surprise. She looks back at Jess, who's still facing her, gaze serious, but still, still there. She tries to imagine the worst, tries to find common denominators between him and her father, and fails. She smiles a little.

"I will though. Think about it." She adds.

"Me too." He answers.

 

“Stop nagging me!” It's been a long day, with them leaving Philadelphia early, stopping in Stars Hollow, hanging out with her mother at Luke's, going to the house to change and getting back on the road.

“I’m not nagging." He says. "This is basic info, pretty useful to know. And we’re running out of time.”

“You know, you’re not my manager, you don’t have to prep me for these things...”

“Well, apparently you’re my charity case.” He teases.

“Shut up.”

“You’d be nowhere without me. Ow!”

“You had it coming mister!” She lets her hand hover next to his side, ready to strike again.

“Hey, while we’re on charity – Hey! I’m driving! - this lot is big on it, half the speakers tonight is probably gonna be on some obscure kind.”

“So, why are we going again?” She pulls back her arm and fiddles with the lid of her coffee cup.

“Don’t act like you don’t know how these things work. It’s networking. And to do that well you could stand to know a thing or two about the event in question, and we’re already late because you insisted on stopping for coffee.”

“Hey! If you expect me to not fall asleep standing, I needed caffeine.”

“You always need caffeine. You should plan better for it.” He snaps his fingers. ”Go!”

“Fine! Despot." She takes a breath and starts reciting what she remembers. "Silver Moon publishing. Established in 1968 by Diane and Everett Silver, celebrates its 50th anniversary tonight at the very same fabulous brownstone from where it all started.”

“Correct.”

“Guests likely include every publisher in Connecticut as well as a bunch of Silver Moon published writers and potentials to supply the cultural capital.”

“As you do.”

“So which one are you? Business or culture?” This she's actually curious about.

“Invite didn’t say. But considering they put out a reissue of a couple of my books a few years back, I’m probably there to supply some artsy edge.”

“And you will. Look at you breaking the rules in a suit and tie!”

“You wanna mock me, or rub shoulders with some people who can actually put out a respectable issue of your book when the time comes?”

“I just don’t see why Truncheon can’t do it." She sighs.

“Oh. We can and will if it comes to that, but we're just a step above self-publishing. You might remember me going door to door begging people to buy my book. Do you have the shoes for that?”

“Certainly not tonight.”

“You look great.” He glances quickly at her, eyes warm.

“Thanks. Dito. I was just teasing before. But I sort of wish that we could get all dolled up without having to work.”

“Right there with you. You know how I feel about… people. Just take it as a testament to how useful these particular people can be to you.”

“Alright. Thanks for taking me then.”

“Wait until the end of the night before you say that. You were right to call it work, and you have to do it in heels.”

 

They park the car about a block from the house and walk the distance hand in hand. It’s been a while since she’s done something like this and she’s a tad nervous. It feels like starting over in a whole new scene and a part of her wants to be there just as company. She sneaks glances of him while they’re walking. She’d meant what she said in the car, and is mildly irritated that she has a to-do-list tonight. Wishes she could just spend the evening arm in arm with him. She takes a breath as the house becomes visible and prepares.

They climb the stairs to the door which is swung open by a man in uniform, and enter a hallway that looks like a museum. Hardwood floors and paneling to shoulder-length, art nouveau tapestry the rest of the way to the high wood-covered ceiling centered by a huge, asymmetrical chandelier. And of course a broad staircase with daedal banisters. While they’re handing over their coats, an older woman in pearls and a draped dress approaches them.

“Jess Mariano! Nice to see you again.”

“Congratulations, Mrs. Silver. Glad to be here.”

“I’ve told you before to call me Diane.”

“Sorry." He says, but makes no promise to change it, she notices. "And this is my- this is Ms. Rory Gilmore.”

“Delighted to meet you.” Diane takes her hand.

“Thanks for having me.”

“You’re not related to Emily Gilmore by any chance?”

“She’s my grandmother.”

“Oh! That’s wonderful! Emily and I were friends in the DAR, back when I had proper time for it.”

“It can be pretty time consuming.” Rory says. "She actually just gave it up."

“Yes, I heard about that." Diane says, clearly amused. For a beat the two of them share a smile. "So, Ms. Gilmore, what do you do for a living?”

“Uhm… I’m a writer, actually. I’ve been freelancing for a few years, covering politics and social phenomena's, and I’m working on my first novel.”

The doorbell chimes.

“Well, I must hear more about it when there’s more time. Come on in, and we’ll catch up later.”

They walk further down the big hallway. She puts her elbow in his side.

"Really? You in business with a lady of the DAR?"

He smiles while snatching two glasses of champagne off a tray carried past them by a waiter.

"Are you really surprised? I’m in bed with another."

She snorts, takes sip of her drink, and blushes like an idiot.

 

The room holding the party continues in the same style as the hallway, apart from more modern details, paisley wallpaper, abstract paintings and Gaudi-esque carvings in the wood surrounding the doors, it actually reminds her of her grandparents' house, if the Gilmores had been hippies. And Diane Silver and Emily Gilmore used to be friends, maybe she’s not completely out of place.

Immediately after they enter they’re cornered by a younger couple who both seem familiar with Jess. One is a novelist and the other a political blogger, so they’re quickly divided by profession. When Rory’s conversational partner hears about her summer in DC ages ago he drags her off to introduce her to a friend who was roped into a similar scholarship many years prior. And three, two, one… She and Jess are separated.

Mingling is easy enough. She’s had years of practice and is comfortable with almost every aspect of it, but it’s new to offer information about a project that isn’t a commission. She gets caught up in it, letting her writing occupy a space of its own, instead of catering it to someone else’s need.

She looks for him occasionally and mostly finds him in the same spot although the people around him changes. She can’t picture him walking around a room doing what she does, he seems so in his element stationary. Back in the day that might have been a hindrance in his career, but now he has no problems attracting social interaction, although he seems to listen for the most part. It’s obvious he just came to this thing for her sake, so she could meet the right people.

An hour goes by and their eyes lock across the room. He smiles and she walks up to him, into his arms. Softly pushes him around the arch of the pillar he leans on, burying her face in his neck. She breathes in his familiar scent and wishes the world would fall away. His hands stroke her back.

"How’d you do?"

"Two email addresses, one phone number and one promised call up." She reports.

"Not bad."

A teaspoon on a crystal glass dances through the room silencing all.

 

When the speeches get going it’s just as bad as he said it would be. She sways between her achy feet, leans on his shoulder to relieve her back and twists her head to look around. The door right behind them is ajar and she slowly backs towards it to peek inside.

It’s a library. And apparently an unseen force dragging her inside. The shelves run from floor to ceiling covering the walls of the room. It’s lit by smaller lights in every row, and there really are rows, plural. Several shelves reach out forming a corridor down the middle of the rather sizable room. She takes a first step on the narrow red carpet nailed to the walkway. She browses the shelves, that seems to be part of Silver Moon’s archive or storage. The shelves closest to the door contain their biggest editions or names, one shelf is entirely one best seller, another contains Everett Silver's whole bibliography. The carpet is worn and the floor creaky, she walks further down the room.

The number of books per edition decreases as she walks and the ends of the shelves starts bearing lists of contents. Eventually she reaches the end of the room. She looks down and the carpet is pristine. To her right is a wing of shelves with a chaotic mixture of books. She looks closer. These are not Silver Moon books, but rather the remnants of a family library. Here are worn copies of children’s books, American and international classics, an inevitably obsolete edition of encyclopedias and old thesauruses. The Bible and Coran, and other religious texts. Books of poetry, art, travel guides, atlases.

She loves these shelves, and not just here, in any house these are the ones she looks for if given a chance, because they tell the story of the people owning them. She smiles to herself looking over the battered backs.

She takes a few steps into the wing on the left, to see if the private collection stretches that far, but there, on a shelf of their own, are about 30 copies of Jess’ books. She feels it again, that tug of pride. She’s proud of him. More so now, strangely enough, when they’re a couple again. She hasn’t seen this reissue of The Subsect and instinctively pulls it out. Browses the pages backwards to the beginning. On the first page there’s a dedication that isn’t in her first edition: For R. G. Thank you.

She’s hot and cold. It’s one thing to get thanked for something like that verbally, unofficially, and another to see it in print, permanent. And it bothers her that… what? That all the years they were apart she tried not to think of him while he carried his thoughts of her like a badge. It shouldn’t matter now that they’re together, but it makes her feel weak, even worthless. And then she almost jumps through the roof when two hands sneak around her waist and Jess’ voice sounds, inches from her ear.

 

•••

 

"Hi."

Her entire body twitches, and she turns around swiftly, slapping his hands away.

"Shoot! You scared me!"

"Sorry." He chuckles. "You’re cheating. We signed up to work this party together."

She’s silent.

"What have you got there?" He reaches for the book in her hand, she surrenders it. He smiles when regarding it.

"Told you," he says.

"My copy didn’t have a dedication," she says pointedly.

"It didn’t need one," he steps closer putting his forehead to hers, "I delivered it in person."

"So R. G…"

"Is you," he finishes, and kisses her. She kisses him back, but there's a hesitance to it. He pulls back, frowning. "If the dedication makes you uncomfortable, it might make you feel better that practically no one knows it’s you." She's still serious. He tries again. "People don’t really care about stuff like that, I just put it in there for me."

She shrugs impatiently.

"What does that mean?"

Crap. This is going to take more than one of his usual evasion-tactics. He takes a few beats to find the words.

"I needed to thank someone… I don’t have many people in my life that deserves the satisfaction. And I needed to make- to keep it real."

“Well, why not Luke?” She interjects.

“Because we don’t communicate like that. I thank him for stuff by doing something practical, like say, fixing up his fishing cabin.”

“Communicate?" Her tone is slightly sharp. "You haven't talked to me in ten years. Where's the communication in that?"

He's sort of taken with the turn of the conversation and doesn't quite know how to respond.

"I didn't even know about it, and you're talking as if that wasn't even the point.” She goes on.

He's increasingly frustrated, and tries to control his tone as he launches into an explanation.

“I meant that, it had to make sense for me too." He drags his hands through his hair and gestures. "I put it in the book, so I wouldn’t fool myself later. People tend to spend a lot of time rewriting the past, claiming to be self-made and what-not. And that’s bullshit in my opinion. Everything’s built on something else, good or bad."

She grabs his hand and looks at him with those pretty eyes.

"Well, to me it seems a bit sad. Screaming into the void, when you could pick up the phone."

He smiles, without really feeling it.

"I didn’t really feel I had that option at the time. I'd put you through enough."

He looks down and widens the smile.

"But either way; isn’t that the bedrock on which our relationship was founded; me being pessimistic and you bringing the pompoms?"

She smiles a little.

"Not as of late. That's a simplification at best, and as much as I appreciate well-defined roles, all bets are off these days. You can be quite the cheerleader yourself."

She takes the book from him again, opening it and glancing on the first page, face serious once more, chest rising in a silent sigh, before putting it back on the shelf.

"Too bad I don't deserve it."

“Deserve?" He frowns. “It's not an exact science. You can't just plug quarters into people and expect you know what's coming out. Didn't you give me this speech just months ago?”

"You can't expect a person to just take her own advice." She pouts.

He smiles.

"You not spending the better part of a decade pining for me doesn’t mean you have to somehow earn your keep now. I'm pretty sure we're even, in fact, my book says I still owe you."

She looks as if she's about to speak, but he's hit upon something now, something urgent. He rarely feels inclined to talk it out, so when he does, he has to go on.

"We were kids, but, what I did to you... it was bad, by any measure."

"Jess-" She starts, a new graveness to her face. But he continues, eyes to the floor, seemingly unable to stop himself.

"I wrecked your car, your arm, made your life worse from knowing me, left without saying goodbye, at least twice, was selfish but too chicken to be upfront about it, you had to twist my arm for anything outside my comfort zone, I lied to you, made you miss prom, showed up out of the blue asking for things I had no right to expect." He looks at her, she's got her arms around herself, lower lip trembling slightly. They’ve stumbled into sensitive territory, tapped into something painful, for both of them, it seems. Had it been a few years ago he would have bolted. But by now he’s used to leaning on her. So, he feels vulnerable, and leans on her. Talks to her. It's what she's wanted. "And you, what? You kissed me and then neglected to follow-up? I was such a catch." He tries to not let too much of his old self-loathing leak into his voice. "And you kissed me to get back at your boyfriend, hey, glad you thought of me. That's it. And both those scenarios involved getting kissed by you, so, I'm not complaining." He's had plenty of time to take inventory of those incidents over the years, but has never really spoken of it. He falls silent, to catch his breath, and listen to his own words echo in his head.

“Jess, you really don’t have to-“ She starts.

“I’m sorry.” he says and just then realizes that he's been needing to say it. “I messed up. I was so caught up in my own issues that I didn’t consider that it might hurt you, not in any permanent way. You seemed unbreakable.” She stares at him as he steps closer to her, making her lean on the shelf behind her. Keeps his eyes open until their lips touch. Holds still against her for a few breaths that gain some sharpness.

“Please forgive me,” he mumbles, then pulls back to look into her eyes. She meets his gaze for a few seconds, eyelashes trembling, then pushes back into the kiss, possibly to shut him up. Her arms reach around him under his jacket and holds on firmly. He lets out a breath of relief, grasps her face and neck, and allows the moment to swallow him.

 

As they exit the library a little while later, trying to do so discreetly, they're ambushed by Diane Silver, who's leaning against the wall, facing the room holding the party.

"Hi there."

He gives thanks for not having an expressive face. Rory, however, goes pale as a sheet. Diane chuckles.

"Sorry," he musters.

"It was my fault," Rory interrupts. "I saw it was where you kept the books, I could help myself."

"Oh, don't worry about it, you're far from the only ones to sneak off there."

Rory sighs, some color returning to her cheeks.

"Oh, good." She smiles.

"Yes, you're in good company-" Diane pushes herself off the wall in an elegant motion, walking up to Rory, smiling mischievously. "Our son Jack was conceived in that room."

Now Rory turns red, and opens her mouth without a word coming out. He holds his breath and manages a little smile at Diane, who walks past them towards the kitchen.

"Enjoy the party." She sing songs at them.

 

They do stay a while longer, but he stays close to her this time around, holding her hand through it all. When they're getting their coats, Diane comes into the hallway, still with that amused smile on her lips.

"We didn't have a chance to talk about your project, Ms. Gilmore. Why don't you send me an email about it?" She hands Rory a card. "And give my love to Emily."

"Thank you, I will." Rory says and smiles.

They say goodbye, and walk back to the car.

The drive back to Stars Hollow starts out silent. Rory sits with her window down, face against the wind, and he glances at her when he can. They pass Chilton on the way out of town, and Rory trails it with her gaze as the building disappears behind them, turns her head. She pulls up the window partly after that, and speaks after a while.

"Incidentally; There's nothing to forgive, not now." she says. "But, sometimes, when I think about it, I still feel so raw, like I'm still monologuing into a phone on graduation day."

He nods.

"But you're not." He says. "I'm here. I'm listening. I'm answering." He wants to go on. To tell her; how he's completely committed to this, them, her, how he’ll never leave again. But promises are useless. They mean so little to the both of them. She has no way of validating it, which she unavoidably will need to. Instead the words tumble around in his head. He promises himself and tries to take comfort in it. As if she's read his mind she goes on;

"I trust you. Sometimes against my will, even if it scares me, but I do. I can't not." She looks at him, eyes shiny. "And it has nothing to do with what's fair, so can we scrap the lists, the comparisons, from now on?"

"I will if you will."

"Deal."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I warped Emily's timeline for this. This would have her flake out on DAR before Lorelai's big break-away, but I figured if she was mixing her own Gimlets already, it wouldn't leave room for Jack, and she would have looked for social interactions elsewhere, as per Rory's canonical advice, quickly finding that she's outgrown her old models. And if nothing else; if ASP can act like a timelord, so can I.


	13. Fall

_It's a terrible love and I'm walking in / It takes an ocean not to break._

**Terrible Love, The National**

**September 2016**

 

Rory Gilmore is seven and Mr. Danes from the diner babysits her. She’s ten and wants her daddy at her birthday. She’s eleven and Luke Danes pulls a splinter the size of a crochet hook from her foot. She’s thirteen and accepts that Christopher will be around if he has time, she also understands that Luke might very well have a thing for her mother. She turns sixteen and he bakes a cake for her birthday. She’s seventeen and her mother breaks off an engagement with a man she likes. She’s seventeen and Luke is the only one to see her as she is, who sees what she sees. She’s twenty and asks her father to stay away from her mother and by extension herself. She’s twenty and hates her father for ruining everything. She’s twenty-one and Luke gives her a neckless that used to belong to his mother. She’s twenty-two and has to love her father again. She’s twenty-two and has to forgive her mother. She’s twenty-three and is too scared to hope. She’s twenty-five and Luke drives her to the airport for the first of many times, they listen to Jethro Tull. She’s twenty-seven and has no contact with her sister. She’s twenty-eight and allows herself to believe again. She’s thirty, and Luke is super-proud. She's thirty, and Luke doesn't question her judgement, but sees what she sees.

 

•••

 

She calls from Nantucket where she’s visiting her grandmother, crying into the phone. Lorelai has rung her to deliver the news, and she’s snuck off to the beach, far away from the house and Emily, so that she won’t give anything away.

That is how he finds about Luke and Lorelai; By the love of his life crying to him, through a phone, hundreds of miles away. Leaving him with only his stupid voice and useless words to try to comfort her. It’s intensely unsettling, and too familiar. She cries. Scared for her mother. But there’s more. It’s old and he knows it; Remembers the vulnerability from long ago, recognizes the hard edge of bitterness from every time he looks in the mirror. He hates that she has to have it too. Still, she can cry. Part of him envies her the ability to hold on to… hope, without going nuts. He doesn’t hope. He does. He makes things different, bends them to his considerable will. But now he can’t do shit.

He tries to comfort her with calming clichés about how he’s sure it’s just a big misunderstanding even if he knows Lorelai would have made herself clear, at least with Rory. He tells her it’s impossible, Luke would never walk away, and she says that it’s her mother she worries about. Makes sense, and he can’t tell her anything reassuring about Lorelai. He’s pretty sure she’s crazy about Luke, has been since they first met; Just because he was a little shit about at the time doesn't mean he made his perception up. But it doesn’t take a genius to see that she has issues with her flight response. Yet another thing he sort of wishes he didn't get about her.

So, he has to listen to Rory cry. Starts to think that silence might be the only, awful, option in this situation. He desperately asks if he should drive to her. It’ll be a nightmare at this hour but he would do it in a heartbeat if she needs him to. She declines and he speaks again.

“I’ll talk to Luke.” A hail Mary.

“It won’t help.”

“I gotta do something.”

There's silence on the other end, apart from a sniffle, then:

"I gotta go."

“It’s gonna be okay, Rory.”

“Thanks.” She says without conviction. "Bye, Jess." She hangs up.

He remains sitting on the couch of their apartment for a while, staring into space. What would it mean if Luke and Lorelai fell apart? To him it's the way of the world. Love might last, but people are too fragile to maintain it. Luke'll go back to his grumpy, hermit ways. He won't be happy, but he will go on, the more things change, the more they stay the same for him. And Lorelai? It's tougher to tell. He does identify with her, quite a lot on occasions, but there's an element of surprise to her, something unpredictable, her daughter has it too. She knows Lorelai better than anyone, and she's worried.

And what would it mean for him and Rory? Would Luke and Lorelai split amicably? Is that even a possibility when there are so many things left unsaid? There would be bitterness, it would make things difficult. And he worries for Rory. She and Luke have something. Something different. He pampers her, like a father, and more importantly, she lets him. For her to accept something like that... she needs it. It's too late to call Luke, so he goes to bed. He gets very little sleep that night.

 

He goes to work the next day, but is distracted, keeps looking for a moment to give Luke a call, but there never seems to be one. He decides to call him when he gets home, but when he's walking from the subway toward the apartment, his hand fiddles with the car key in his pocket and then it's like he doesn't have control of his feet. He walks to his car, gets in it and drives north, heading for Stars Hollow. It's roughly eight in the evening and the worst of rush hour has passed, still, traffic is heavy.

He arrives at about midnight, hence too late to knock on Luke's door. Or maybe not, maybe Luke isn't sleeping either, it wouldn't surprise him. But, he hasn't arrived at words yet, or angle for approach, just knows that he said he'd talk to his uncle, and this, closing the geographical gap between them, seemed like a step he had to take immediately. He parks by the diner and sits on the step smoking a cigarette. They are few and far between, but there's definitely use for some uselessness tonight. Then he reaches for the key – it's not there. He tries the door. It opens and he steps into the diner. Remains standing for seconds while considering his options, then he walks upstairs.

He opens the door to a murky apartment, and is greeted by the world's worst guard-dog, tail wagging, silent. Luke is asleep in the armchair in front of the TV that's still turned on. Jess sighs. With Lorelai gone it's what he would do. He turns off the TV. Thinks about what to do for a few minutes, while petting Paul Anka, then picks the blanket from the bed and spreads it over Luke's legs. He writes a note and places it under Luke's key-chain after unhooking the one for the house. He leaves the diner and walks to Lorelai's house, lets himself in, and makes his way to Rory's old room. The bed is tiny, but he falls asleep almost immediately.

 

He gets to the diner later than he intends the day after, but the place is still packed, seemingly stationary people occupying every chair. Right, the wi-fi.

"Hey," he starts at Luke who's behind the counter, "I thought you'd be done with the morning crowd by now."

"Yeah, well." Luke gestures at the guests.

"Why'd you give 'em the password?"

"Someone caught me off guard."

"I'd say."

Jess stands at the counter for a few minutes, tapping his fingers impatiently.

"Do you have a minute?"

"For what?"

Jess cringes.

"To talk."

"Not really."

He swears silently over his hopeless uncle. Tries to summon the panic necessary to start a conversation with him on this topic in a crowded diner, and how it just wouldn't work under these circumstances.

Then he walks in behind the curtain, followed by Paul Anka, to the router fastened to the wall. The finger-tapping goes on, against the cloth of his pants, for a few seconds before he bites his lower lip, lifts his hands to the device and unplugs the cords attached to it. He leans on the wall, slides down until he's squatting to pet the dog, and listens to the slowly growing choir of disgruntled customers rising, and then slowly falling to the pace of the chiming door as they finally leave.

"Jess!" Comes Luke's highly suspicious voice from the diner.

"Yes, uncle Luke?"

He walks out into the now empty diner and sits down at the counter, facing Luke.

"Did you do this?" His uncle asks sternly, but he doesn't really seem mad, but rather relieved.

"I don't know what you're talking about." He answers just the same. "But it sure is lucky they cleared out. I actually really need to talk to you."

"Oh yeah? 'Bout what?"

Jess takes a deep breath. This is not his thing; willingly entering into this kind of conversation. But he has to do something. He tilts his head, staring at Luke, hoping it'll be enough to get him started. But unfortunately, he's just as stubborn, staring back, not giving away a thing.

"What's going on with you and Lorelai?"

"Mind your own business, will you?"

Jess pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to keep his tone levelled when he speaks again.

"And what business would that be exactly, that is all yours and no one else's?"

"Do you want coffee?"

"Focus, please! And yeah."

Luke pours him a cup and weighs from one leg to another. Jess looks at him and sighs. Gets off his stool and goes to physically lead his uncle from his awkward place behind the counter to a table. He pours a cup for him as well and sits down across from him. Stares at him while taking a sip, waiting for him to start spilling.

"Look." Luke finally goes. "It's between me and Lorelai, that's all."

"So, where is she? If it's something the two of you are dealing with, why aren't you doing that together?"

"Don't go there. You of all people should know that you need a bit of distance sometimes."

It's understandable that Luke would assume that about him. He's put distance between himself and everyone more than once. But it's always been to protect himself or others, never to sustain a relationship, and he has always been quite aware of that. Being close to someone for what feels like the first time in his pathetic life has made it so that he has can't think of anything scaring him more than distance, than the looming possibility of his past. He does know Luke and Lorelai, and they're like two of him in the same relationship, repelling each other when getting too close. He shudders at the thought.

"To work out your own issues, yeah. But trouble in your relationship? I don't know. Seems you might wanna spend more time together for that."

Luke throws him a dismissive gesture.

"I know you." Jess goes. "You're not dealing with this on your own, you're diving into work, business as usual, putting up shelves, waiting for things to even out on their own. What if they don't this time around?"

"I'm confused. If you think you're helping- Why are you here?" Luke glares at him, and he's well aware that he probably wouldn't even get involved if it weren't for-

"Rory was worried."

Luke's face goes soft, a hint of desperation in his eyes.

"Tell her not to worry. It'll be alright."

Jess doesn't want to think about Rory now, finds it makes him angry, protective, and puts him in a strange position between two of the three people he loves.

"No offense, but how can you make that promise?"

"Jess-"

"How could you let this happen?" Shit. "I do not get the two of you. You wait for her for years, and when you get her, you keep secrets, drive her away. And now you're back there again? Thinking time apart is some solution. You're the one who told me I don't get to compartmentalize, that the Gilmores are package deals, except when they´re not? Would you make up your mind already? And Lorelai was doing this whole bit about how weird things would be if me and Rory broke up, like you and her going your separate ways would be impossible. If you ask me it's been a long time coming the way you do business."

"Hey!" Luke barks. "She's kept plenty of secrets herself, she lied to me."

"Bummer. Don't do the same thing to her. That's a toddler's way of escalating a fight."

"Well, thank goodness you're so smart."

This is going nowhere. He sighs.

"Look, I don't really know what's going on with you. But I'm operating under the assumption that you want to be with her. Am I wrong?"

"No. But she gets a say, you know. And she put the distance between us, so I am operating under the assumption that it's what she wants right now." Luke punctuates his sentence with a tap of his index finger on the table.

Jess nods, and thinks about it for a moment before going on.

"I'm just asking you not to do what you usually do, which is just nothing. Do something. Talk to her, go be with her, close the gap, don't let her fall off the earth."

Luke stares at him skeptically.

"Are you actually suggesting going to California?"

Jess smiles.

"Zeppelin recommends it."

"You're crazy."

"Was there any doubt about that?"

"Who's gonna look after the diner?"

"I will." He instantly responds. "You're really considering taking my advice?"

"God help me."

"You and me both."

 

It’s absurd to be in this situation, him being a stabilizing, or constructively destabilizing influence, especially in regards to Luke, the immovable man. But here they are. He calls Matt and Chris to tell them he'll be away for a couple of days. Him and Luke manage the diner 'til closing and head back toward the house. Luke is making them dinner, and he stops at Doose's to buy supplies, and a steak for Paul Anka.

Jess is just about to suggest they look up flights to California after dinner when his phone rings, it's Rory.

"Hi. I just wanted to let you know that I'm back from Nantucket. I'm in Hartford."

"I'm on my way."

He hangs up and looks at Luke.

"It's Rory, she's-"

"Go. I'm quite capable of booking a flight on my own. I'll call you later, let you know what's up."

"Okay."

 

When he arrives at Emily’s looming palace, it’s almost completely shrouded in darkness. A little light is visible from a window on the second floor. He forces his steps from the car, and his hand to ring the doorbell. Then he waits. Minutes pass before the door opens and Rory appears in the narrow crack, dressed in a robe and silk pajamas. She looks taken.

"You’re here." There are equal parts relief and wonder in her voice. "I thought-"

He shakes his head.

"I was in Stars Hollow."

"Luke." She says, and he nods.

"I had to do something." He leans against the door frame, suddenly embarrassed.

"And did you?" She asks with a crooked smile. He returns it.

"In terms of actual effects; We’ll see. Probably not."

She regards him distantly for a few beats, before widening the gap in the door and letting him in, and he passes her closely enough to register the warmth from her body. The hallway is dark, the only light coming from the staircase, a few small lamps over pictures on the wall, and the streetlights outside. He slides out of his jacket and turns to look for someplace to hang it. She grasps it, just to let it drop to the floor and in the same motion wrap her arms around him. He puts his around her in response, and she turns her face to his and kisses him.

It’s not like she’s initiating something, more like they’re already knee-deep in each other. Like they’re already naked in bed. He never needs much of a ground run with her, even if he is surprised. Maybe he won’t need his useless words right now. Maybe he can use his hands instead; His body implementing his will, or hers, it’s mostly the same thing these days. So, he leads, or maybe follows, it's not clear, but it doesn't need to be, her down the hallway, up the stairs, to the room she's claimed.

The maneuver isn't exactly choreography, but it’s all intuition - he’s good at that - and urgency, and that makes it feel graceful, and who's watching anyway? She frees herself and backs into the room while letting her robe slide to the floor. She pulls the over-sized shirt off, steps out of her pants, and stands bare in the middle of the room, her eyes dimmed and her chest rapidly rising and falling. He clenches his jaws and closes his eyes for a second, to pace himself. Then he repeats her moves on himself, walks straight to her, navigates them to the bed, but lets her provide the gravity, it is what she is, after all.

 

A while later they're in bed together, covered by a blanket. It's her thing. She has issues with input, needs to block stuff out. He's grateful for it, especially now, in this house of hardwood, leather furniture and sternly, stiffly posed portraits. She's fiddling with his hair, pushing it back, and pulling it forth, and then back again. Fingers and eyes trailing his face. He looks at her. Seems impossible that she could ever hide a thing from anyone, with those expressions.

"I don't know." She mumbles, rambles. "It's so strange. I don't get it. I just don't understand why we have to do this separate, why we can't share this, like everything else. Why she has to go off on her own. Or I get it, but it's just unacceptable. It just, really sucks. I can't help, and she couldn't help me."

He watches her, hand on her neck, thumb stroking her cheek.

"I'd say that's the way things are, people handling their issues by themselves, but, I wouldn't know what I'm talking about, I've never been that close to anyone."

"Sure, you have." She says, and he has to smile. After a few seconds she speaks again. "Can you do me a favor?"

"Anything." He's got to stop saying that. She smiles.

"Get my book, and a glass of water."

He shakes his head, at himself mostly, and gets up. Has to get dressed before leaving the room because there's no way he's wandering around this place in any unguarded state. He goes downstairs to get the book in the living room.

He stops momentarily in front of the enormous portrait of Richard Gilmore, still dimly lit. The first time he saw it he almost jumped out of his skin, but now... He's known this man, in several incarnations, good and bad, for one thing he's not unlike Luke. He remembers him trying to control, discipline him. Failing. Too late for that. But he recognizes the blunt force care behind it. Richard Gilmore stares at him, and he stares right back, unflinching.

His phone rings upstairs, he usually ignores it or keeps it muted to begin with, but now he’s the unlikely support system for two people, so he hurries back. Rory's on her back in bed, phone pressed against her ear.

"He just walked in, hold on..." She hands him the phone. "It's Luke."

“Hi," his uncle starts as soon as he puts the device to his ear. "I’m just calling to let you know you don’t need to be back tomorrow if you don’t wanna.”

“You’re not going.” Jess sits down on the bed, puts the glass on the bedside table and hands Rory the book.

“Nah. She left me a message. Rambling on about the motel, her bag, what have you, but there was something in there about her missing me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, so I figured that… We've known each other for a long time, she and I, and... I trust she knows what she’s doing. And maybe this is one of her issues, maybe it’s more about her.”

“Luke-“

“But I want you to know that I appreciate what you were trying to do. And… I was listening.”

“Okay.”

"I won't just let it be."

"Okay."

"So, give Rory my love, tell her it'll be alright, 'cause I'll fix it, and I'll see you soon."

"Yes. Bye."

He hangs up, and faces Rory who looks at him questioning.

"He just wanted me to tell you it'll be alright, they'll work it out. Lorelai called him. Did she do that before?"

Her face softens.

"No. She was more on the 'avoid trouble until it goes away strategy'."

"So, it's not the same as it used to be."

She smiles at him and the dread lifts. He lies down next to her again, and she rolls herself onto him, head at the crook of his neck, leg over his hip, and arm across his torso.

Trust, huh? And just like that, it's that easy. He's thirty-one and finally lets himself trust in it, this, her. It almost feels like a lock clicking open.

 

Not that a pro/con-list is even on the table, but he can understand the practice. And sure, he could take inventory of all the shit that's happened, all the shit he's done, everything that could go wrong, but what would be the point? It's etched into his spine, shoulders and neck, anyway. The only lists he makes these days are pro-lists, in his head, and he'll never let anyone know.

Jess Mariano is eight years old and his uncle babysits him and lets him pick where they go, they spend a few hours at the library. He's sixteen and his uncle makes changes to his static life in order to accommodate him. He's sixteen and his uncle promises to not let him fall off the face of the earth, although he might have thought it a threat, a nuisance at the time. He's sixteen and gets to be bored. He's seventeen and gets to meet someone who sees him as he could be, he gets to fall in love. He's eighteen and his uncle hurts him while trying to protect him, instead of from neglecting him. He's nineteen and Luke comes to get him. He's nineteen and gets to be forgiven. He's nineteen and starts writing, because he needs to, because he has nowhere else to go, because the voices of his uncle and her can cut through his self-hatred, even if they are just in his head. He's twenty and gets to be useful. He's twenty-one and gets to give something back. He's twenty-two and holds Doula for the first time. He's twenty-three and goes with Luke to the lake for the first of many times, they listen to Neil Young. He's twenty-five and starts to think that feeling okay about himself might get to be permanent. He's thirty and gets a second chance. He's thirty-one and lets himself trust her. He's (almost) thirty-two and has to start trusting himself.

 

"Hey. Remember when we said we'd think long and hard about it?"

She pulls her head back, while processing the words, remembering.

"Well, I did," he continues, "and if you think we could do it-" Wait. Hold up. Explainer. He takes a breath. "My faith in you being able to do whatever you set your mind to... it's there. And you've been right about me before too. So... If you, at some point, decide you want to, with me- then yes. Whatever you decide." He takes a slightly shaky breath. "I know it's not very interesting."

She smiles softly.

"I don't know. Seems pretty interesting to me."


	14. The Wedding

_I never thought of this as funny / It speaks another world to me._

**Be Mine, R.E.M.**

 

**November 2016**

 

It's on her birthday.

 

First off, it's a surprise party. After two weeks held up in the house in Hartford and traveling. They haven't seen each other for that time with him being tied up in Philadelphia and her wanting to make room for her own writing. But she's coming home for her birthday, he even picks her up at the airport, the two of them falling into each other's arms, a promise of things to come. Between kisses she jumps and rambles happily over the upcoming wedding, and he just laughs, her joy seemingly spreading. And then, when they open the door to their apartment; surprise! What was he thinking? She glares at him. He returns the look and gestures defensively.

"Not my idea!" He points to Lane who's running over to give her a hug. Granted, it's not that many people, but enough to fill their apartment, and both Paris' and Lane's kids are there, and Matt's wife, Katey, who could give birth any day.

"You facilitated this." She growls. “Your birthday is a month away and you can consider your days of low-key celebrations a thing of the past.”

"Oh, I take full responsibility! Give him a break!" Lane says. "Look what he made you!" She drags her into the living room and gestures to the wall, or rather, what used to be a wall is now covered in wall-fixed shelves, there's even a square arch over the couch. Rory's jaw drops. She turns her head to him, eyebrows raised, he shrugs.

"Luke helped me."

Secondly, there's that. She looks back at the shelves. They go all the way to the ceiling, which, to be honest, isn't that high. But still. There are stools for reaching the top shelves on either side of the couch.

"I unpacked the boxes that've been sitting in the storage, and we still have shelves to fill. Look!" He points to a middle-shelf filled with books in different gift-wraps. "I told people to bring books."

He's enthusiastic. She actually has to hold back tears. This is ridiculous. She smiles broadly, and hugs him.

"Thank you."

"Happy birthday."

She keeps hold of him until she has a hold of herself. Presses her face to his neck, and drags her lips over it while loosening her grip on him. His arms tighten around her for a moment, before he pulls back and strokes her face, thumb grazing her lips.

Thirdly there's the fact that he's in a t-shirt, jeans and blazer. It is his model clothing for casual parties but it's the contrast of not having seen him for two weeks to suddenly being exposed to that.

She does the rounds and enjoys the talks but there it is; right now she'd rather be alone with him. So, she stares across the room like some Austen heroine and locks eyes with him repeatedly. After a while he walks up to her as she's talking to Paris in the hallway.

"Can I cut in?" He asks.

Paris rolls her eyes at him but lets it slide without comment and walks off, presumably to locate her kids. Jess leans against the wall beside her, sticking his hand in behind her back. Turns his head to meet her gaze.

"Hey. You know what the only thing I could think about while mingling and eating canapés was?"

"We don't serve-" She starts, before getting the reference. He smiles at her expression, which might be rather red.

"So anyway," he goes on, "it struck me that I might have made you some sort of deal a while back concerning this kind of situation."

Her smile is wide and she has to keep it from turning into a laugh. She anchors her teeth to her bottom lip.

"Technically I believe the fine print may have intended some form of storage unit, but I think we can manage an upgrade." His hand closes around the door handle behind her back, and she just then realizes that they're right outside the guest room. "Shall we?" He asks, and she nods fervently. Doesn't even check to see if anyone's watching. Finally, there's that.

 

They duck into the room in a swift motion and he closes the door behind them. There's a lock, but the key is long gone so they use themselves as blockage. She leans on the door and he against her, kissing her neck. She tilts her head back and glances at the room from behind her eyelashes. There's extra furniture shoved in here for the occasion, as well as the coats of a number of guests. And on a bare bannister, where they usually hang jackets and things in need of ironing is her red skirt and the rest of her lucky outfit. She squeals in delight. He turns his head to look.

"Yeah, Luke brought it, apparently it's been in Lorelai's closet since the move. Personally, I don't see what would make it lucky, but, you know, I respect your beliefs."

"It's a birthday miracle!"

"I missed you." He mumbles, more melodically than usual, sort of lost to emotion. Mostly he’s stoic to a fault, she looks at his face as he shifts position to kiss her and relishes the rarity.

"I can tell." She laughs, slings a leg around him and arches her back to push the two of them together. He pulls her shirt off her and she peels the jacket from his shoulders and down his arms. He drags hands over her body, raking her neck, shoulders to arms, hips to waist to breasts. Her breaths gains tone.

He’s good at this, fucks like a person who’s never had a space to claim. Like someone who always lived in close quarters, with nosey caretakers, or loads of roommates. This maneuver has proved too difficult for other lovers, who've been dependent on space, grand gestures and rooms surrounded by other empty rooms. Or who've been very particular about when and where. It's been clumsy, loud, and more often than not ended up just being a joke, rather than what it was meant to be. Jess is quiet, efficient even. But compensates the lack of privacy by other forms of contact. He keeps their faces close together, lets her partake in what goes on with him. Changes in his expressions, breathing rhythm, almost soundless moans. He lets her in.

It's just getting hard staying quiet when there's a pounding on the door.

"Go away!" Jess calls, and she's genuinely impressed that he is able to not only keep his voice even but also commanding.

"What'd I tell you, man," comes Chris' voice through the door, "dead quiet's a sure sign."

"Fuck off, Chris!"

She might have been embarrassed had it been any other time, any other person, any other way. But she's surprised to find she's not. Loud music sneaks through the door as well as voices from conversations carried in the living room. They're good. She laughs, and it's loud, the moment's tension sneaking into it. And he kisses her to silence her, and possibly himself too.

 

That's it.

 

•••

 

November comes and as the wedding approaches she's increasingly crabby. He gets it. It's a big deal, much more than her or her mother lets on. He tries to let everything slide. It'll blow over once Lorelai and Luke are married. Once the proverbial knot is tied, granting everyone involved some unfounded peace of mind. Of course, he only thinks that, can't be helped, it's just the way his mind works.

They're back in Stars Hollow a week in advance to help out, and even though they initially stay above the diner, they soon move to the house since the apartment fills up with decorations at intimidating speed, and Rory can't seem to get out of there early enough in the morning. Unfortunately, that doesn't do her mood any favors, sharing her tiny bed with him, and he guesses, fitting their relationship under her old roof. He tries to help, but seems unable to keep from pissing her off, he even decides his best option is to help Kirk with the decorations just to get out of the house, then that obviously drives him crazy, so he abandons it pretty quickly.

He is Luke's best man, which is extremely low maintenance, as expected.

"No bachelor party! No mud-wrestlers! No pranks! No embarrassing speeches!" Was Luke's firm instructions after delivering the request.

"So just the title then?" Was Jess' comeback.

"And the ring-holding." Luke said.

It does however, thankfully, provide him with some time to run - although running really is a faulty metaphor, more like walking – walk a few errands for the groom. And he is preparing a speech, no way Luke's getting out of that one, but it's not embarrassing, just honest, he thinks. Rory read it and insisted that it was going to make Luke cry.

"No way!" He tried.

"Yeah way, in case you haven't noticed, he's a big old softy, but sure, if you want to make him blubber on his wedding-day, far be it for me to try to stop you." She said. He had to rewrite a few things after that.

 

It’s Saturday morning and he wakes up next to her. She’s aligned her body down the length of his, and she rolls it against his as he strokes her arm and puts his lips to the back of her jawline. She reaches back and grabs his hand putting it between her legs. He opens his mouth and kisses the skin of her neck causing her to let out a light whimper. She twists her body, supposedly to kiss him back, but the bed creaks loudly at her relatively modest movement. She freezes, takes his hand from between her thighs and places it on her waist instead, holding it still with hers, and squeezes her eyes shut; Lies on her back for a moment, before opening them, looking both tired and awake at the same time. Then she sits up and reaches for her robe.

”Are you okay?” He asks, not without worry.

She sighs, her back slumps a bit, then she turns to him, expression hesitant. She shrugs.

”I don’t know. This room, this bed, you and me… It makes me a little sad s’all, couldn’t tell you why, though.”

"No need." He understands. At least he thinks so. Missed opportunities and all that stuff. He shoots her a little smile, tries to make it comforting. He reaches out and brushes his fingers down her arm again. She mirrors the smile, but it doesn’t really reach the eyes. She’s generally much more susceptible to stuff like this, he’s been blocking it out best he can for years, has to turn off his defenses actively to experience it. In a way he thinks it’s good that she can’t. Then she gets up, and walks out the room. He joins her a little while later.

 

The four of them are having coffee around the kitchen table. Well, he and Rory is, Lorelai's pacing with a funny bounce to her walk that's supposed to help her fit in the wedding dress, but probably only works wonders with her psyche, which is more than you can say for the people witnessing it. He'd make fun of her if he thought he could get away with it, which would be the case under normal circumstances, however, these are not those. He gets up and stands next to Luke, who's cooking too much breakfast.

"What's on the agenda for today?" He asks and glances at the frying pan. "Besides making your weight in scrambled eggs?"

"Oh, come on, that's not-" Luke manages before looking at what he's doing. He turns around and stares accusingly at the Gilmores. "I thought you said you wanted eggs!"

Rory throws up her hands defensively.

"I'm not eating anything today." Lorelai says while bouncing. "Besides Rocky Road."

"I'd take some off your hands, but unfortunately I don't have the time." Rory says, and gets up. "I'm off."

"Why do I bother?" Luke asks the ceiling.

"Where to?" Jess asks Rory.

"Hartford." She sighs. "I have like a thousand errands, I told you."

She didn't. But there's no way he's objecting.

"Right."

"You want a list?"

"I'm good." He says, aiming at a disarming tone.

"See you later." She walks out the kitchen door. He takes the last gulp of his coffee and goes after her, against his better judgement.

"Rory." He says as he walks onto the porch. She stops. He takes her hand. She reluctantly turns to him, and he locks eye with her. For a second she looks as if she's about to snap at him again, but seems to decide against it.

"I got a lot on my plate today. Okay?"

"Okay." He strokes his other hand over her cheek and she shoots him a small, albeit tense smile.

"Bye." She walks off the porch and gets in her car.

 

He decides she needs some time with just her mother, as far as that's possible, and makes plans to crash at Liz' the night before the wedding. He ducks out of the house, which seems to get crazier in Rory's absence, shortly after. Goes over to Liz to book the futon. He ends up taking Doula for a few hours. They go for donuts, and he spends some time reading on a bench by the Gazebo, helping Kirk occasionally, while Doula plays with Petal. After dropping his sister off he heads back to the house where he gets to approve Luke's outfit before Rory gets back.

Something's different now. An electric sort of energy, crackling about her. Her eyes alive but distant, like an inner conversation rambles in her head. Her motions as she unpacks her bags varies between efficiency and hesitance. He tries not to stare to hard in his attempts to figure her out. After a while she stops, and turns to him.

"You're never gonna guess who I met at Doose's!"

Her pause after drags on, and he smiles, amused.

"That's right.” He says. ”I won't. So, you're gonna have to tell me."

"Dean."

His chin drops.

"Oh, wow. I'm having the weirdest flashbacks. There's jealousy, and red, hot fury and some very embarrassing posturing."

She smirks, looks a tad more entertained than she should be.

"So, what was that like?" He asks.

"It was great!" She goes cheerily.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. We were civil. We talked about our lives, nobody was bitter, we even managed some nostalgia-"

"Ugh."

"Don't do that!” She stomps her foot and he smiles. ”You're friendly with your exes."

"First of all; there's just the one, secondly; friendly, not nostalgic."

"Hey, if it wasn't for nostalgia we wouldn't be here."

"That wasn't nostalgia!" He objects.

"Then what's your problem?" She sticks out her chin. "It was nice. The kind of nice you and I couldn't have mustered in the same situation since we'd still be into each other.” She steps up to him with warmth in her eyes. ”Be happy for me."

"Fine. I am." He sighs, then he speaks again, trying to make the question breezy, not sure he's succeeding. "Did you tell him about me?"

She rolls her eyes.

"He knows. It's first thing he was told when he set foot here last fall. He told me to give you his worst."

"Really?"

"Stop smiling."

 

She seems more stable, and in a significantly better mood after running into her ex, interestingly. And it makes him breathe easier too, knowing that he didn't seem to come out looking like the weaker man from her unavoidable comparison. He still decides to implement his plan. Pulls her aside.

"I'll get out of your hair. I'll sleep at Liz', leave you and Lorelai to it."

At first, she looks puzzled, then she smiles at him, warmly, broadly. Leans in and kisses him. Relief is sudden and surprising, making him think that his threshold for stress is really high.

"I'll be here early tomorrow, though." He goes.

”Okay.” She nods, her expression turning mischievous. ”Just one little piece of business first.” She pulls him into her room and closes the door. Twirls them around and walks him backwards until the backs of his legs bends against the edge of the bed causing him to sit down. She straddles him, putting her mouth to his.

”You’re giving me whiplash here.” He breathes between kisses. Her lips tighten in a smile.

”Well, there comes a time when you gotta start filling your rooms with what you want in them, right?”

"Right." He pronounces the word slowly while processing hers. She cocks her head to the side and lets her gaze trail the ceiling.

"It's just; running into Dean... His wife is having their fourth baby, and Logan's getting married, it was on a frickin' placard for the Enquirer, and I'm sorry to bring up the exes, and I don't think they're better off-"

"They're missing out if you ask me." He mumbles through a crocked smile, eyes steadily on her face.

She laughs, and actually looks really happy.

"You and your words..." She shakes her head before going on. "My point was that: I think I've been waiting for credits to roll. And I have to remind myself that that doesn't happen. It just goes on and on. And sometimes that makes me a little impatient. Partly because I'm comfortable with you, and I just, wasn't raised to handle that. And I know it doesn't sound very romantic, but the thing is; I don't think I've ever felt that, with any guy. So, to me, it is. And it just struck me, that maybe that's my happy ending... without it ending."

She kisses him again, then pulls back.

"And I should stop waiting, I should just... go do."

Another kiss.

"But I can't right now, 'cause I’m very busy today.”

He laughs. Lifts her off him and gets up.

"You can start tomorrow."

They both pause, then speak at the same time:

"Or the day after that."

They smile at each other and he pecks her forehead, then:

"See you later."

 

•••

 

She wakes up by her mother who's shaking her gently.

"Hey kid, wake up."

"What's going on?"

"We decided we simply didn't have it in us to wait another-" Lorelai glances at her watch-less wrist, "zero point sixth of a day before getting married, after all, that's fifteen hours, 900 minutes, but here's the real monstrosity: 54000 seconds. That is just a too vast time and or space continuum for us to tread!"

"So..." Rory shakes her head. "Now?"

"Asap. Chop-chop!"

"Your incoherent word is my command." She stands up, somewhat unsteadily. "What do you need me to do?"

"Super-easy. I just need you to peel your beau off of his mother's couch without waking her or anyone else in that house. We're keeping this version really minimalistic."

"This version?"

"We're obviously still getting married tomorrow."

"I'm gonna stop thinking and start doing now."

"Hurry. See you crazy kids at the Gazebo."

"I'd be careful who I call crazy right about now."

 

She half-jogs to Liz' house. It's distinctly smaller than her mother's, garden unattended, and with a number of sheds of varying quality, the result of TJ's efforts to house an ever-growing mass of crap. The entire place actually looks like something a crazy inventor might have built – wires climbing the walls like vines, the gutters led off to a number of malfunctioning watering systems. TJ has the creativity, unfortunately he lacks a shred of practical skill. She smiles to herself when thinking of how he drives Luke nuts with his constant stream of outlandish projects.

She bends over at the driveway, picking up a few pieces of gravel. Liz keeps her futon in the upstairs hallway, which luckily has a window in it. She takes solid footing, aims and tosses the first rock. It hits the window with a little tap. She waits for a few beats and tosses the second one. Then a third one. She's about to send the fourth one flying when Jess opens the window.

"Hey there, Romeo," He yawns. "What's going on?"

"Won't you come on down, Juliet," she responds. "I'll tell you, but be quiet."

He appears moments later in the door. Puts on his shoes and walks out on the grass, while sliding into his jacket. Reaches her, puts his arm around her and kisses her, lips tight from smiling.

“Rory Gilmore tossing pebbles at my window in the middle of the night. You mind telling me what’s happening?”

She smiles hazily, allowing her heart to dance around her chest for a few seconds more. The way it does when they’re this close, but she's on a mission, has a gap to close. So, she opens her mouth to tell him.

“I’m pregnant.”

His face drops, and she feels the shock herself because she wasn’t going to tell him now, she was going to wait. It’s so rare to see him unguarded like this, even after more than a year together. He keeps it together, mostly. But she's hardly surprised; If there ever was a time for bewilderment, this would be it.

“What do you wanna do?” The question seems rushed, like he has to get it out right away.

She doesn’t have a verbal response, or even an intellectual. She found out today, and hasn’t had time to think about it; In her reeling head she's still asking how it happened. Yet she just knows. She chews on her lower lip and looks at him. She can’t decipher him. But his visible breaths give away the magnitude of his feelings. She's suddenly terrified herself, and it must show, because he, like always, steps up when she’s scared. He nods.

"Rory-" he starts, can’t finish. Then he smiles. It’s a weird smile, in no way simple, but it is his real one. He steps close to her, putting their heads together. Sighs shakily.

"Okay." He says.

She realizes she hasn’t taken a breath for a while, does, and it alleviates some of her dread. The relief is tangible.

"And mom and Luke decided to get married right now, so, we have to go." She breathes helplessly.

His body trembles in a short, quiet, and possibly desperate laugh and he shakes his head.

"Okay." He says again.

 

•••

 

He's (almost) thirty-two and has to start trusting himself. He's thirty-two and gets to be a father.

 

•••

 

It's almost light out. Lorelai is sitting on the stairs of the Gazebo, leaning on Luke's shoulder. Rory and Jess are at the far end of the building, locked in a slow sway. The others have gone home by now.

"I'm cold and tired." Lorelai yawns.

"That's because it's way past your bedtime," Luke responds and pats her on the head.

"Well, it won't do." She says firmly.

"No, you're right, we should get to bed."

Lorelai lifts her head from Luke's shoulder and stares at him in faux shock.

"But it's our wedding day! How could you possibly want this day to end!"

"Funny. I was just thinking how I'd like it to begin." He retorts.

"I need coffee."

"You need sleep."

"Please Luke. Please-please-please-please!"

He actually laughs, a sure sign that he's in a good mood. Possibly, probably, even happy.

"Alright, crazy lady. Because it is your wedding day I will let you have your wish, no matter how insane it is. Coffee. But then bed! It's my wedding day too."

 

Rory and Jess have been in their embrace masquerading as a dance for a while, lost track of time, faces close together, hidden from the others. They've looked at each other, and away, and kept their eyes shut. Been silent, like only two people contemplating the exact same thing can be, this close together. Different expressions have snuck across their faces, some of which they've never seen the likes of before. Now he looks at her, his face somewhat pale, aware.

"It just struck me that this is exactly the kind of trouble I wasn't supposed to get you into."

She falls into laughter.

"I'm glad you find this amusing." He says, possibly, probably, amused himself. "Could you do me a favor and let me know when you're telling your mom, so I can be very busy elsewhere at the time?"

"Jess!" Luke calls from the diner. "Come and help me out."

"Be right there." Jess responds, then looks back at her.

She stifles her laughter, locks eyes with him and lets the remaining smile turn into warmth in her voice as she speaks.

“It’s not trouble.” She thinks about it for a beat. “It is what it is. But it is, and that’s the thing.” She’s sure. “It doesn’t have to be perfect, it just has to be real.”

He sighs, with a small smile on his lips.

"I can work with that." He kisses her before running after his uncle. She goes to sit down next to her mother.

 


End file.
